


Down by the Shore

by gottageekout



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Emotional Baggage, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Resolved Sexual Tension, Road Trips, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-06-15 09:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15410004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottageekout/pseuds/gottageekout
Summary: After a particularly long stretch of hard cases, the need for relaxation arises.Connor decides Hank needs a vacation. That it's a place he wouldn't mind experiencing himself is just a bonus.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to the random twitter person I follow who I can't find anymore that mentioned loving seeing art involving Connor at the beach, because without you, this fic would not be possible (I clearly agree, but boy, I can't art - hope another medium counts).
> 
> May my humble beach fic find you one day, wayward stranger. And you too, reader.
> 
> (twitter DBH fandom is pretty great though, find me [here](https://twitter.com/gottageekout) if you like.)

Nearly two years after the revolution, they were still doing this.

 

Sticking together.

 

Hank had long since stopped wondering when the shift came from their arrangement going from a temporary housing to Connor becoming a permanent fixture, a roommate. It seemed to happen gradually, their shared space going from the quiet, bleak existence he had put together for himself to what it was now. There’d been a point Connor started to add his own shit, and his own shit was probably more decoration than his place had seen in years.

 

And for as much grousing about it, Hank liked it. Liked having someone pull him out of stagnation in the ways Connor did. Liked, too, the ways he seemed like he was helping Connor, who never had a hard time telling him when he sort of stumbled onto helping him figure the whole being human shit out.

 

Heart on his sleeve, as always. The open affection was weird to navigate at first, but he’d long since gotten used to it. Even returned it, in his own way, though there were still some walls that were firmly up.

 

(He’d leave eventually, the voice in his head would point out sometimes. The voice was kind of an asshole.)

 

Him being around helped during the particularly long months, too. The case they had been on had been emotionally and physically taxing in a way that he hadn’t dealt with in a long fucking time. Even though their part of it was essentially over, Hank was still feeling the effects of it, tension becoming his default.

 

Mostly, he just wanted to sleep now that it was over. For a long fucking time. Tossing together some leftovers and deciding to call that his meal the night after it all was officially closed on their end, he was all set to probably pass out on the couch at some point watching shit on TV with Connor, because once he sat down, there was no guarantee he was getting up.

 

“Hey, Sumo, up,” he said to his dog, who looked personally affronted at the fact he was trying to make him get up from his spot that involved him being practically draped on Connor’s lap. The dog had quickly learned his owner’s new roommate both liked him and could take his weight with an ease no other person could and they’ve been attached ever since. When he finally did get up, it was with great pains, and Hank could see Connor smirking a little out of the corner of his eye.

 

“You spoil him too much,” Hank said, even as he fucking leaned down and ruffled the dog’s fur himself before sitting.

 

“I don’t think there’s an upper limit to that, Hank,” Connor pointed out, easily. He pulled his legs up onto the couch now that there was room, draping himself against the arm of the couch as he relaxed into the cushions. He’d already changed out of his work clothes by then, which Hank hadn’t even fucking bothered doing yet.

 

“Oh, I’m pretty fucking sure there is,” he snorted. Hell, the dog had only basically taken a few steps to the side and sat down and was currently staring at his food like he was trying to plan ways to steal it. Kicking off his shoes, he put his feet up on the coffee table, slouching in his seat. He squinted at the shit Connor had on.

 

Some movie, seemed like. Moonlight casted a shadow on the two actors in the frame as they stood on some quiet beach, having a tender moment.

 

“The hell is this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I just turned it on,” he shrugged, not reacting to his tone. He was watching intently, with an expression he couldn’t quite read. It was kind of…wistful, which given the current subject matter? Made Hank jump to a whole lot of conclusions.

 

“Uh-huh,” he said, steeling himself for a conversation he realized he’d never actually broached with his partner.

 

Connor seemed oblivious to it, watching the screen still, “…I would like to go there one day.”

 

…Apparently his conclusions had been wrong.

 

“Wait. Where?” he asked, glancing at the TV again.

 

Connor gave him a look that said he should probably be faster on the uptake, here. “The ocean. It seems like a popular destination. Have you ever been?”

 

Hank felt his gut clench a little at the question and the unbidden memories it brought forward. Cole had been just old enough to enjoy it, eyes bright as he requested to go into the water one more time. Teaching him how to hold on to the boogie board. The peels of laughter as Hank withstood the waves and it splashed against him and the little boy in his arms.

 

His ex had to practically drag them home every day they were there, though she always had a smile on her face that she lost the day Cole died.

 

“Hank?”

 

He breathed in sharply, eyes coming to focus, and realized Connor was staring worriedly at him. He refused to look at him in the eye, feeling embarrassed.

 

“Not often, but a few times,” he said, purposely being vague. “And not for a long time. Fuck, it’s been years.”

 

He knew Connor was picking up on all the fucking body cues he was trying to mask. He expected him at most to ask about it. Instead, he unexpectedly felt a weight fall on the hand he had resting on his own leg, tentative at first. It startled him a little, but he didn’t pull it away.

 

He’d never really taught Connor about personal space. Really, it only ever seemed to be a thing when it came to Hank, and – well, fuck it if he didn’t sometimes appreciate it. Maybe more than he ought to, more than he was willing to think about. Instead, as Connor’s fingers dipped underneath his palm, he squeezed it gently.

 

“I didn’t mean to –“

 

Hank shook his head, stopping him right fucking there. “I’m fine. It’s really fucking something, Con. I’ve never been to any place tropical, but even the ones I drove to were good. Used to rent a place right on the water for a week, forget everything, you know?”

 

Connor made a thoughtful noise under his breath and his gaze shifted to the little yellow light emanating from his temple, the spin slow and purposeful. Hank wasn’t entirely sure what he could be calculating because he sure as hell hadn’t given him much just then.

 

“…I think we should go.”

 

Hank stared at him in surprise, hand still in his (he should pull away now, his mind scolded him, which he promptly ignored). That was about the last thing he expected to hear him suggest, and he wasn't entirely sure how to answer. Connor didn’t seem deterred by the silence, plowing on.

 

“I have noticed lately you have been buckling under the weight of the stress of what we've been faced with,” he continued, practically clinical in how he was talking. Hank could tell more than one scan had been done, because of course Connor was keeping an eye on him. “You’re tired often and more irritable than usual. The last three cases we’ve been on have been taxing even for me and I have more safeguards against letting it get to me. As your partner, I feel like it’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t burn yourself out. As your _friend_ , I know you well enough to know you’ll let it happen if I didn’t bring it up.”

 

Hank looked away, his jaw setting as he tried to find any argument in his logic. There was none. He knew they had the vacation time to do this. He knew he’d been feeling absolutely fucking awful lately. Fucker was right, of course. He was always right, which was as annoying as it was helpful.

 

"Do you even _actually_ want to go to the beach or was this all a lead up to tell me I need to take a break?” he asked instead of answering, as though that were even the important point here.

 

Connor smiled sunnily at him. “There were multiple options I had in mind, but seeing the ocean seemed most interesting to _me_ , so we both benefit. I cannot think of anyone I’d rather experience it first with.”

 

(His hand was still over his.)

 

Hank finally pulled it out of his grasp at that. Not roughly, of course, but it was hard to deny he definitely suddenly needed some kind of space between them. Connor was so _much_ sometimes for him and he didn’t really know how to deal with what continued to be his relentlessly affectionate in ways he didn’t know how to read. Or how he _wanted_ to read them. Two fucking years of this and his partner still put him off-kilter daily.

 

He carded his now free hand through his hair, sighing.

 

“This shit takes planning, you know,” he pointed out, putting up no fight whatsoever. There were things Hank would get stubborn about with him despite his partner's relentlessness when an idea struck, but this was not one of them. They were in the hottest month of the year, had just gotten through one of the most draining cases he’d been through in a while, and fuck, the more he thought about it, the more getting away showed its appeal.

 

Maybe make some new memories so he didn’t have to wade in the old ones all the time. His therapist said shit like that to him once. He liked to pretend he listened to the shit he learned sometimes.

 

Connor looked equal parts hopeful and pleased. “So - ?”

 

Hank pursed his lips before smiling a little himself. Connor’s energy was infectious sometimes, and it’d be a lie to say he didn’t like saying shit that made him happy. “Yeah, let’s take a road trip. It’s been too fucking long to say no to this.”

 

He could already feel some anxiety coiling within him, but a lot of it felt as though it was being drowned out by the bright expression his partner shot him. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

 

Hank entirely believed him, which was the craziest fucking thing of this. All that pent up worry that was threatening to bubble over and he still believed him. Perhaps it was because he knew, generally, his company always seemed to make shit better. Perhaps it was because he knew somewhere deep down he was right about him needing a break.

 

It was something he knew he probably _shouldn’t_ question, so he didn’t.

 

“I know a place. I think you’ll get your fill of the experience there. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right,” he decided. And doing it right meant going to someplace Hank knew. It couldn’t have changed that much from the last time he visited.

 

Connor nodded, taking it all in stride. He was pliable when he was still essentially getting his way, the fucker. “I’ll leave all planning you wish to do in your hands, Hank. This is as much for you as it is me.”

 

“I’ll look some shit up. You get to deal with Fowler tomorrow,” he grumbled, already picking up his barely used pad to start looking shit up. It was almost like a muscle memory, coming up with what they’d need. A place to stay, a rental car because his current one was not going to make the ten-hour drive, finding someone to take care of Sumo, clothes because he sure as hell wasn’t prepared in that department there anymore – he could practically see the checklist his mind forming when he never thought he’d be considering this right then.

 

But that was how shit just _was_ with Connor, never a fucking dull moment. It just helped this time that he was _right_ , this shit would’ve never crossed his mind had he not brought it up, but it made sense. It made sense and he legitimately, truly wanted it.

 

Distantly, he realized some music was playing, and he glanced over at the screen to find the movie that had been on was running through its credits. Hank narrowed his eyes briefly, something in his head about the entire situation clicking.

 

“Holy shit, wait, did you purposely put this fucking movie on to be a jumping point to talk to me about this?” he asked, his mind now rewinding and realizing how much of a set-up this had felt.

 

Connor immediately attempted to look as though he didn’t know what Hank was possibly talking about. “No?”

 

Hank _saw_ that fucking bleep of yellow in his LED though, brief as it was. Only time he ever had that particular tell was with him, and he looked every fucking time because of it.

 

“Motherfucker,” he swore, though he followed it up with a laugh because only fucking Connor would do this shit. “You could’ve just asked.”

 

He shrugged innocently, not looking _at all_ embarrassed. “I thought it would be a good primer. Seeing it in action had a better chance of bringing out positive associations that a datapad worth of information wouldn’t have had. It was a good plan.”

 

“You overthink shit too much sometimes, Connor,” he said with a snort of amusement.

 

Meanwhile, Hank was decidedly _not_  reading too much into his decision to pick a fucking _romance flick_ of all things.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, there's no real way to stop Connor once he's got an idea in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind reception on the first chapter! I'm hoping to get these suckers out every couple of days. :)

Connor does, in fact, talk to Fowler. First thing in the morning, which felt like a _terrible_ plan to Hank. But he was nothing if not tenacious, and there was no real stopping him when he got an idea in his head. He wasn’t present for the conversation, but he pushed his chair to the side enough to peek into the glass to see Fowler looking about as amused as he assumed he’d be having someone like his partner in his office that early.

 

“What’s with Connor?”

 

Hank glanced over to see Wilson looking, clearly having spotted the commotion himself. He leaned back into his chair, looking amused.

 

“My partner’s decided he wants a fucking _vacation_ ,” he replied, still not quite able to believe this was an actual fucking thing that was happening. He didn’t even remember the last time he went anywhere. It _had_ to be before everything went to shit in his life. “…And is trying to drag me along for the ride.”

 

Wilson whistled appreciatively. “He’s asking this early in the morning? Bold move.”

 

“I told him, but he kept talking about it being some kind of fucking tactical choice,” he explained. Actually used the fucking words, and he had no doubt he actually did calculations on the trajectory of how to get them a week off. For as undeniably human he was by then, there were still quirks Hank doubted he’d ever really get rid of. Didn’t honestly want him to get rid of, because it’s what made him _him_. “I’m surprised Fowler hasn’t caved yet, honestly.”

 

He snorted in amusement, turning back to his computer. “I was thinking the same thing, man.”

 

Connor emerged a few minutes later, gliding over to the desk with an ease in his gait. Body language alone told Hank it’d gone fine. If he’d any doubts of what just transpired, the second he caught his gaze, his partner smiled.

 

Yeah, he fucking broke Fowler down.

 

“You’re slipping, that took longer than I thought it would,” Hank joked, lifting an eyebrow.

 

“You were right, next time I will have to account for his coffee consumption,” Connor conceded as he sat down at his desk.

 

“Rookie mistake, you’ll learn,” he smiled pleasantly, which earned him a sour look from Connor. It was incredibly hard not to burst out laughing at it. There was something about getting such an overt reaction out of him that practically felt like a little victory. “Everything good?”

 

“We will be expected back the following Monday,” he confirmed, which was exactly what he’d been aiming for. “I was prepared to present and explain in detail multiple studies involving burnout, but once I mentioned them, he suddenly became quite agreeable to the entire idea.”

 

Hank waited for any sign of him not being serious. There was none. He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus, you probably could’ve fucking got away with asking for two weeks if you were going to do that.”

 

“I made sure to condense what I wanted to present. It was extremely informative,” he sighed, sounding honest-to-god disappointed.

 

“I’m sure,” he said, dryly. “…I feel like we’re going to have to have a fucking talk about topics that are off limits on this car ride I’m about to take with you.”

 

“It’ll be informative,” he repeated, though he definitely saw that little uptick of a smile that showed he was fucking with him this time.

 

“I will kick you out on the side of the road,” he threatened anyway.

 

“No you wouldn’t, Lieutenant,” Connor said with an good amount of self-assuredness. “But I will keep your warning in mind.”

 

He went to work, leaving Hank with the realization that yes, he really had just signed up for essentially a week of just the two of them. For as much as they’ve been together, it was a whole different story when work or shit involving Markus or whatever wasn’t involved in any capacity. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever seen Connor relax more than a few hours, and now they were doing, well, this.

 

He was starting to wonder just what he’d fucking gotten himself into.

 

* * *

 

Plans came together easily after that. Impromptu as it may be, between Connor’s general ability to get shit done and Hank’s familiarity of what they needed, things fell into place. Williams even offered to take Sumo on – his kid was excited when they showed up with a giant dog for her to play with and Sumo was as easygoing as he always was, just needed to see the lavish amount of attention to automatically be okay with the situation.

 

(They’d been late dropping him off, only because Hank found Connor on the floor with the dog, giving the animal a speech that involved both reassuring him they’d be back and going over what sounded like instructions on how to behave. It was just ridiculous enough to be fucking endearing and Hank had given him the time he needed.)

 

They hadn’t discussed when they were leaving that morning, which was a mistake on Hank’s part, as it turned out. Four-thirty in the morning rolled in and he woke up with a start as he felt something shaking him. Blinking the blurriness of sleep out of his eyes, all he could see was Connor’s body silhouetted by the hallways’ light and the swirling blue of his LED.

 

“Fuck, Connor,” he groaned, about to fucking throw the nearest pillow at him. He didn’t even need to check the time. Rolling away and facing away, he stubbornly pulled the blanket over his head. “S’too early.”

 

He knew that would not stop him, but he wasn’t fucking getting up without a fight. What he expected was for him to go to the other side of the bed and keep at it, because this was Connor they were talking about. What he wasn’t prepared for was the speed of which he was going to do it. Before Hank could react or even fucking register what was happening, he felt a firm tug on his blanket, pulling it down. Goosebumps immediately rose on his bare arms as his body reacted to the loss of warmth.

 

“Fuck,” he swore again. With his face now highlighted by the same hallway light, he could see his partner was smiling.

 

“Good morning, Hank,” he said with an amount of good cheer that should be illegal so early. “It’s four-thirty. In approximately a half hour, it’ll be the optimal time to leave. I took it upon myself to prepare the car.”

 

Hank did, in fact, throw a pillow at him at that point. Was he being petulant? Fucking _yes_ , he was. He didn’t care.

 

“I will drive this first leg of the trip. Or all of it, if you wish, but I assume you’d enjoy being behind the wheel. I simply need you to get dressed and put yourself into the seat right now,” he said, patiently. Hank popped one eye open to see him holding the pillow (of course he fucking caught it), and he could see the fucker was still looking entirely amused. Like he was enjoying this.

 

“Not gonna let this go, are you,” he realized, his sigh muffled by the pillow he buried his face into.

 

“You now have twenty-five minutes,” he said in response, stepping closer and dropping the pillow on his head. Before Hank could form any sort of retaliation, he walked out, flipping on the light in the room for good measure.

 

Hank gave himself two more minutes to stew at the fact he was being woken up this fucking early before dragging himself up and rubbing his face roughly to try to wake himself up. It didn’t do much. He eventually just sort of stumbled through some semblance of his morning routine. He also managed to do it in the less-than-twenty-five-minutes time frame, which had been a miracle in itself. He should be getting a medal for how well he’d managed to not fall back asleep, but he doubted his partner would appreciate it.

 

Connor was idly standing in the living room when he emerged, still half-asleep – he’d hoped the shower would’ve helped but it really hadn’t done shit for him – but at least on his feet. In the full light of the living room, Hank could see his partner had apparently taken his advice when it came to buying clothes and ran with it. He was pretty sure he’d never even seen him in so casual an outfit before - a striped, well-fitted, short-sleeved shirt and a neat pair of shorts that matched the shirt effortlessly.

 

He had a better fucking sense of style than Hank had even in his prime. He valiantly attempted to not think about how mismatched a pair they probably looked, but he was making it really fucking hard not to.

 

Connor was oblivious to what Hank was thinking, walking over with a broad smile. He held out a travel mug once he approached.

 

“Coffee,” he explained. “How you like it.”

 

An olive branch of sorts. Hank took it and sipped it, looking him over as he did. Something still felt off about the whole look he’d curated for himself, and once he realized it was because he’d changed his entire look but kept the way too fucking neat hairstyle.

 

Without thinking, he lifted his hand, tousling it a little, fingers threading into hair that was softer than he would’ve expected. The motion seemed to startle Connor, his LED spinning yellow immediately. At first, he thought it was because he’d just annoyed him, but his expression didn’t show any kind of displeasure. In fact, he sort of ducked his head, which –

 

If it were anyone else, he’d be reading into that shit.

 

“It would’ve fucking kept bothering me,” Hank explained without prompting, withdrawing his hand when he realized what he had done. He cleared his throat, stepped away, put distance between them.

 

The fuck was that?

 

“Do I look alright now?” Connor asked, earnestly. Way too fucking earnestly.

 

Hank could’ve scoffed at the question (wasn't it obvious?), but he could see he was being serious. He hardly felt like the one to ask this shit, but there he was, legitimately looking for feedback.

 

“If you’re worried about doing vacation wrong, you’re already doing vacation wrong,” he settled on, clapping him companionably on the shoulder. “Don’t think so much, Connor. You’re fine.”

 

Hank could see him absorb the advice and a few moments later, his soft blue glow returned. He visibly relaxed, shoulders sagging a little under his palm. He’d said what he’d needed to hear.

 

“Maybe don’t wake me up at four-thirty next time, though,” he added, rolling his eyes as he stepped away and toward the door, sipping his perfectly crafted coffee.

 

He only caught his own presumption that there would _be_ a next time a few moments after he’d stepped out into the warm pre-dawn morning. If Connor had noticed himself, he didn’t say anything, following after him and locking their door behind him. He was never so glad to not be called out, questioned, because he’d have to explain that at some point, yeah, he had started assuming shit he probably shouldn’t be.

 

He very much forced the entire line of thinking out of his head, instead choosing to slip into the passenger seat. Hank sighed, leaning his head back. What a fucking morning already.

 

Connor wasn’t long after, making a final round to make sure shit was closed off. Distantly, Hank knew there was barely anything in there to be worth going through the trouble of stealing, but he knew pointing that out wouldn’t stop him. Seemingly satisfied, his partner joined him in the car, which Hank had to admit was already proving way more comfortable than the one they were leaving behind.

 

He’d still miss it for the week it was going to be parked in the driveway.

 

“Everything’s prepared,” Connor announced, as if Hank hadn’t already guessed by his presence in the actual car.

 

“Double and triple checked it?” Hank joked. A look crossed his face that made him realize he was about to get out again. “For fuck’s sake, you are not triple checking it. Let’s fucking go, huh? Your perfect time to leave window is closing.”

 

He watched as Connor debated a few more seconds before clearly giving in. He started to effortlessly enter in their projected trip into the car itself with an ease he rarely saw him do with his usual car. Old thing was probably practically obsolete and harder for him to interface with. A look approaching some bit of guilt crossed his features as he admitted, “Now that you’re up, I suppose I should tell you there’s a bit more wiggle room than I initially told you there was. I just knew if I didn’t give you a deadline, you never would’ve listened to me.”

 

Hank probably should’ve fucking guessed. Probably even had plenty of tells he wasn’t being entirely truthful during it that Connor had known he never would’ve seen because he was too out of it to go looking at the light in his temple.

 

“I am just… _excited_ , I think,” he continued, pausing only to fumble for what word matched with whatever feeling was firing off in his head. Connor looked so quietly pleased that all of Hank’s irritability at being rushed that he was about to convey very loudly died on the tip of his tongue.

 

 _Not fucking fair_ , he thought, grumpily, even as conflicting feelings of being glad for him (he’d fucking come so far, hadn’t he?) hit him, too.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I guess I’m looking forward to it, too,” he reluctantly admitted instead, lest Connor think he was feeling like he was being dragged against his will. “Just don’t pull that shit again.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Connor grin.

 

“Understood, Hank,” he replied as he finished his final preparations and the car lurched forward to start toward their destination.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the two stop for some food and it all becomes clear that Hank is an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter earned this fic a new tag, which is impressive in itself. I'm a little blow away by the response to all of this, if I'm honest, because I was wholly expecting to just let this be a sort of 'for me' fic, LOL. Thanks again for poking your head in to read and a special thanks to people who have commented, subbed, bookmarked, and sent kudos. It really does help me knowing people are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing this.
> 
> Soo...this one is a bit of a rockier chapter, but I promise I am not tricking you all and having this hard swerve into angst, LOL.
> 
> As always, you can find me poking around twitter jericho [here](https://twitter.com/gottageekout).

Hank had only intended on resting his eyes. Apparently he’d been more tired than he thought, because one minute the street lights were casting shadows into the car and the next he was being woken up by the glare of morning sunshine and the quiet sound of jazz. He squinted against the light, quickly shifting away so he wasn’t absolutely blinded by it.

 

He exhaled a long, sleepy sigh, rubbing his eyes. He had to have been asleep for a little while, because the telltale ache in his back from not moving made him wince as he stretched it out. He wasn’t sure when Connor noticed he was awake, but he found his partner watching him when he looked over.

 

“How long was I out?” he asked, sitting up a little in his seat. The large panel in front of them was set to ‘AUTONOMOUS’ –the most obvious route at the moment was best and they were cruising.

 

“You missed us entering Ohio,” Connor informed him, glancing wistfully outside. “It’s much quieter outside the city.”

 

Trees lined the highway they were driving along. It was a sort of peaceful he wasn’t really used to anymore, not with the kind of life he’d led.

 

“Wait until you see the next state. If it’s anything like I remember, it’s a shitload of farmland,” he mused, taking a sip of his now cold coffee. A glance at the time had him out for about two and a half hours. No wonder he finally felt rested.

 

“I saw a few already. There were horses,” he smiled, looking pleased. There was zero surprise in hearing his enjoyment of animals extended beyond dogs. “You must be hungry. There’s a few places to stop in the immediate area.”

 

“I threw some shit into my bag, don’t worry about it,” he replied, waving off the idea. Probably should grab one of them right now, in fact - he wouldn’t exactly deny that his partner was wrong about him needing food.

 

Connor looked unimpressed. “That’s not a meal.”

 

“Half the food you find on the road aren’t really meals either,” Hank pointed out. It wasn’t like this was _new_ , he rarely ate this early unless Connor threw something together for him to begin with.

 

He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to, because Hank could see he was processing something that he already guessed was him picking someplace to go. He rolled his eyes. “You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

 

Connor shot him a pleasant sort of look, already messing with the car’s navigation. “Interesting, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

 

It was an argument he wasn’t going to win. He knew, ultimately, Connor would absolutely pick something that was worth eating, and his back was begging for a better stretch than he could ever give it siting down like he was. Didn’t stop him from giving the smug asshole the finger. Taking it in stride, Connor put in the new directions.

 

“I think you’ll like this place,” he said, undeterred by his sour mood.

 

They pulled up to the small, hole-in-the-wall looking place not long after. Hank would’ve guessed they were in the wrong place if not for the little sign above it that simply said ‘CAFÉ’. He glanced at Connor, unsure, but his partner didn’t even hesitate to get out. Hank shrugged to himself and got out too, stretching his arms over his head and hearing a satisfying crack in his back.

 

“Ahhh, fuck,” he exhaled, feeling nearly instant relief. Maybe stopping was worth it just for that.  “This is where we're eating?”

 

“I’ve noticed your appreciation of smaller places in all the time we’ve known each other,” he replied simply, heading toward the door. “So I’ve accounted for that.”

 

It looked small all right.  He considered pointing out to Connor he really hadn’t needed to work so hard to find a place whose _ambiance_ matched his taste, but he knew it just was what his partner did. He didn’t even want to know the information he had stored on probably everyone he regularly interacted with. It wasn’t even something he had to _do_ anymore, please people and make them feel comfortable, but he seemed to enjoy it still anyway.

 

Hank, on the other hand, barely even remembered birthdays.

 

They stepped inside and he had to give it to his partner, the place was exactly the kind of joint he would’ve picked himself. Small and quiet, there was only a single table in use and a few people sitting at the counter. A few glanced their way, including the person he assumed was the business proprietor, a woman that looked around Hank’s age. Picking the closest available table to sit across from each other, they settled in easily.

 

It didn’t take the woman long to wander over, two menus in hand, regarding the two of them with a broad, friendly smile.

 

“Well hello there, always nice to see new faces,” she said, putting the menu in front of Hank. It was probably that moment she must’ve spotted Connor’s LED, because she hesitated and immediately looked sheepish for not spotting it sooner. “Ah – I suppose you don’t need this, hon.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind taking a look anyway,” Connor said, taking it in stride. It wasn’t the first time they’d dealt with his and he doubted it was the last. Hank sometimes wondered if it frustrated him, but if it did, he didn’t let it show. Always the expert at diffusing situations, he took the menu, his eyes already on it. She nodded to the two of them and wandered away, giving at least Hank some time to pick what he wanted.

 

“We should find a place that carries that shit you can drink after this,” Hank considered, looking him over. This shit always seemed lopsided because he had to sit and watch him eat. This was why he opted for take-out more often than not.

 

“It’s not really necessary,” Connor replied, studying the menu with genuine looking curiosity. It probably bothered Hank more than it did him, but he made a mental note to seek that shit out once they got to their destination. There had to be something, especially far enough removed from the initial revolution that people had to see them as beings that warranted being sold to.

 

Capitalism at its best.

 

Hank looked at the menu himself, dropping the subject for the moment. He wasn’t really planning on getting anything wildly different than his usual, which he quickly confirmed by a glance over what was being offered. She returned with a pot of coffee. She poured him some, lingering close to the table even after she finished.

 

“What can I get you?” she asked. Hank glanced up and noticed, oddly, that Connor was staring at her strangely. She didn’t seem to notice, her focus entirely on him.

 

“Two eggs, toast, bacon. Over easy,” he said, trying not to sound distracted.

 

“Anything else?” she asked, writing it down.

 

“Ah, no, I’m good,” he replied with a shake of his head, handing the menu over. By the time she turned to take Connor’s, he had glanced away, looking out the window next to their table. Once she walked away, Hank considered asking what that had been all about. He knew Connor enough to know when something was off.

 

He decided to not ask.

 

That turned out to be a mistake.

 

“She is attracted to you,” Connor noted after silence stretched between them for a few minutes, his tone confident and even.

 

Hank nearly choked on the coffee. His partner had had the good sense to _at least_ keep his voice down, though that only meant his very loud reaction gained another round of stares from the usual patrons of the establishment.

 

“Connor, what the fuck,” he swore, once everyone’s attention was back on their own food. He leaned in, giving him a look. “Were you _scanning_ her?”

  

“She was exhibiting interesting body language. I was curious,” he replied, as if that were _any_ kind of excuse at all. Connor turned his head to look at him, his gaze sharp. There was an expression on his face that was inscrutable, but for whatever reason, it had him feel more off-balance than the idea he’d caught the eye of some random woman.

 

“Here you are.”

 

The voice nearly made him jump, not even realizing she’d returned with his food.

 

“Extra bacon, on the house,” she winked, and Hank suddenly very much felt like just leaving. It wasn’t even that she was unattractive – shit, she was practically exactly his type, once upon a time. It just – she didn’t even register as a ping for him, for whatever reason. She, unfortunately, didn’t have a fucking nosy android in her ear like he did to tell him he wasn’t interested, so she continued, conversationally, “Where are you two from, if you don’t mind me asking? Don’t often see a human and an android walking in together around here.”

 

“Detroit. We’re partners,” Connor said simply, and Hank could swear he was being purposely vague.

 

She looked between them, a perplexed expression on her face. “Oh, I see.”

 

Hank could practically see the dots being connected. And instead of stuttering through explaining how she had it wrong about them, he decided it was easier to let her come to her own conclusions. At that point, he just wanted all this shit to go away.

 

“Thanks for the bacon,” he settled on saying, and that apparently was enough of a hint. She offered him a tight smile and nod as she went to wait on another table.

 

He didn’t look at Connor when she left, suddenly incredibly interested in the food in front of him instead.

 

* * *

 

There was a little while, sitting in the car, that Hank just sat there debating whether he even wanted to broach the topic of whatever the fuck that had been in the diner. It felt a little too much like it was hanging over them not to say anything, but if Hank was good at something, it was fucking just burying shit and not dealing with it. He was just about to convince himself he was fine just letting it drop when Connor apparently decided to be the one to do it himself.

 

“I was attempting to be helpful.”

 

It was a soft admission. Hank finally ventured a look over to see his partner having what felt like an odd mix of emotions on his face that Hank wasn’t going to even start unpacking.

 

“Just blurting that shit out is not helpful,” he said, flatly, and it _probably_ wasn’t fair for him to be angry. This was Connor, he guessed, trying to be nice, and there was still shit he just didn’t know wasn’t appropriate. He couldn’t sit there and blame him for that. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Look, you shouldn't be scanning people for shit like that.”

 

“But you never notice yourself,” he replied, and there’s an edge in his voice that made him wonder if Connor was _annoyed_ about it. “So I thought I’d see what would happen when you did.”

 

 _I was just curious._ It felt a little like he’d been signed up for an experiment he didn’t ask to be a part of. Sure, he hadn’t really fucking considered shit like that in a long time, even now that he’d mostly cleaned up his act and was doing better than he had been in years. It was a _conscious_ action though, something he hadn’t felt he needed and therefore haven’t bothered focusing on. Maybe he had missed some cues from people around Connor before, but that was only because he hadn’t been looking. And even if he _had_ been and missed them, none of that equated to it being at all okay for Connor to get involved. Especially not using his fucking abilities on people for him, which felt way too much like a slippery slope to something that felt wrong and uncomfortable.

 

“I’m not fucking _blind_ ,” he stated, losing his patience. He wasn’t great when people put him on the fucking spot. “I don’t need you helping me with shit like that, alright? If I was interested in someone, they’d know.”

 

“Would they?” he challenged abruptly, and there was this second of yellow he swore he spotted, but it was gone too fast for him to really confirm for himself if he’d just been seeing things. Regardless of whether it was there or not, he realized he was being called out on something he hadn’t really been prepared to be called out on and there was this flare of discomfort in it. He didn’t like it.

 

“Whether they do or don’t still isn’t any of your fucking business, Connor,” he replied sharply, very much feeling the confines of the car they were in now. This was the kind of conversation he’d fucking leave and refuse to even be part of, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t miss the brief, inexplicable expression of hurt cross his partner’s face before he turned away completely either.

 

He heard him exhale an audible, very _human_ sigh after a long moment of silence. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

 

The apology and admission that he’d messed up _should’ve_ been more than enough to make all of this shit better, for Hank to feel like he won the argument. He literally just got Connor to agree to exactly what he asked for, which was rare in itself. Instead, he felt uneasy in the silence that came after and the feeling that he ought to say something and honestly didn’t know the first thing on how to say it.

 

So he didn’t. Instead, he turned to look outside himself as if the trees still flying by them were the most interesting fucking things in the entire world. It was easier.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things remain uncomfortable, but a really ridiculous roadside attraction comes to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to let you guys in on a secret, this chapter's focus was almost 200% why I started writing this to begin with. Luckily, I got to this point on the weekend. High turnaround, ho.
> 
> See you all in a few days. Thanks again for reading!

There was only so much silence music could drown out. It’d been a few hours and they’d barely said more than a handful of things to each other and even then, it’d really been only because they _had_ to. Hank considered trying to sleep more but his brain wouldn’t allow it, too tense and irritated at the entire situation. How he was reacting to the situation, even, because the longer the time stretched, the worse he felt about it.

Which was fucking ridiculous. Connor had started it. There were lines overstepped that were clearly defined. Had he just dropped it, they wouldn’t be like this, but then he –

He had to do whatever the fuck he did. The entire conversation took a weird turn, one of which he didn’t want to puzzle over too deeply. Maybe on some instinctual level he knew he didn’t want to know. It would’ve been easy, brushing it all off, except he’d fucking seen his face.

It was an expression that didn’t match the conversation as he knew it at all. There were very few times Connor ever lost his cool, nevermind looked quite so hurt by something. And he’d done that. How? He’d snapped at him before and he took it in stride for way worse things than telling him to back off. Yet this was different and fuck, the guilt coiling low in him was exactly the problem he was having right now.

Because he never wanted to be someone who made him feel like shit. Usually he could spot where he’d fucked up, made things right. Here? There was _nothing_ , wasn’t there? Because the only thing that came to mind was something so ridiculous he fucking rejected it outright immediately. He knew better than to let his mind wander places it shouldn’t, lest he fuck up everything between them.

But that didn’t help him now, sitting in this stupid car, going to a destination they were going to be together for a little under a week. Something had to give, because no matter what stupid thing happened between them, he didn’t want this shit to ruin what would be his first experience seeing the ocean. He cared too much about him to not figure out how to let shit cool down.

That decision and an actual plan were two different things, though. He just kept staring out the window, silent, willing his head to come up with any way that didn’t involve him apologizing. Or at least not entirely involve him apologizing, because he’d made points that were important, damn it. He had been considering closing his eyes when he spotted a billboard that made him sit straight up.

“Holy shit, that’s still a thing?” he said out loud. The sudden string of words seemed to startle Connor out of his thoughts, his LED briefly shifting yellow.

“What's still a thing?” he inquired, his voice a little strained, warily catching his gaze.

“Put this address in,” Hank requested, forgetting all that other shit for now. Connor had to fucking see this insanity. “Trust me, okay?”

Connor opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it and shut it. He still looked utterly baffled but eventually turned so he could mess with the car’s console anyway. When things were prepared and Hank relayed the address that had been on the billboard for him to enter, he confirmed, “Alright, it’s in. Are you going to tell me where this is taking us?”

“Nope,” he said, sitting back, feeling confident that even if the place was a wreck, this would be worth it. “And no checking.”

Connor shot him a look. Hank only then realized it was probably bad fucking form to put it that way after what happened and inwardly winced. “If you want this to be a surprise, you just need to tell me that.”

Hank blew out a long exhale, allowing himself to be admonished. If he was going to get mad at Connor pulling shit, at the very least he could try to take criticism himself. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He really didn’t say that shit enough, because the small but noticeable uptick of his partner's eyebrow in surprise was hard to miss. Instead of making a big deal of it, Connor simply nodded and finalized their new destination, sitting back when he was done. For a long moment after he had everything imputed in, he was silent, looking thoughtful.

“Okay, but really, where are we going?” he asked, already sounding the _good_ kind of impatient. For the first time in hours, the Connor he usually was around – not sullen and quiet, but curious and eager to the point of fucking bursting was back, and even if this was all a bust, he knew this was the right choice. A bit of levity before they got to their destination.

“You’re probably going to think this is the _dumbest_ i thing you’ve ever seen,” he offered, grinning, which did not answer his partner’s question whatsoever. “But that’s part of why people stop on trips to places like this to begin with.”

Nothing said road trips than gawking at bizarre roadside attractions while stretching your legs. Which, after three hours, he wouldn’t mind having the break for a whole variety of reasons.

 

* * *

 

Hank had to give it to the current owners, they managed to upkeep the place well enough. Nestled in a very rural-suburban area of Pennsylvania that seemed nearly untouched by the march of time, they’d come to a stop at the destination to find quite a few cars were parked in the dusty, unpaved parking lot for the location. It was good sign number one that the shit was at least open still. It didn’t take them long to walk over to the main event, which they’d been standing in front of for a few minutes now.

“Let me get this story correct,” Connor said after Hank had relayed what he could remember learning about this thing, pacing around the area in a way he’d only seen his partner pace around a crime scene.

“Go on,” he said, watching with just a little amusement as Connor puzzled it all out.

“This has been a monument that has been cared for for decades after a few people decided they saw a space craft land nearby?” he asked, stopping to stare up at the acorn-shaped object still placed proudly on the pole. A little sign on its base declared the event’s date.

“An acorn-shaped one,” he offered, as if that somehow made any of this make any more sense. “You’d think they’d have leaned away from the name Space Acorn to try to be taken seriously, but this is my fucking second trip here now and that gift shop is definitely still open, so what do I know?”

He could tell this shit was creating an honest conundrum to Connor for all sorts of reasons. “But surely by now there’s even more concrete proof. Even a _cursory_ glance through older articles has brought up multiple theories based on science –“

Hank held his hand up to stop him right there. “If you’re going to learn _anything_ from this shit today, it’s that all the proof in the world doesn’t stop a good story. Or even a weird, acorn-shaped one. Just part of the fucking human experience. Suspending your disbelief and rolling with it for a little while and probably buy a mug of it at some point.”

Connor frowned at that, looking up at the monument again. He could see him trying to process it, yellow light and all, and he vaguely wondered if it legitimately was a conflict popping up in his systems as he attempted to simply just go along with it despite every reason not to. Eventually his LED calmed to blue and he glanced at Hank.

“We should take a picture with it,” he decided, shooting him that familiar playful, lopsided grin following the statement. Seemingly noting the surprised look that Hank couldn’t quite suppress, he added, “That is also a normal thing people do on vacations, isn’t it? I think it’d make a good one. I don’t think anyone we mention this to will be able to believe this is even a thing.”

Being fucking schooled on vacation shit by someone who’d never been on one. Hank just rolled his eyes at him, though he knew he had a point. It would be hard to describe if Connor wanted to. “If you want, I guess. I look shit in pictures, though. Why don’t I just take one of you with it?”

Connor looked entirely unimpressed at the suggestion and started heading toward him. At first, he expected him to go behind him and nudge him forward, but instead he simply reached out and grabbed his hand firmly. He very much ignored every single immediate reaction that caused in him, because the consequences of him doing anything _else_ would just make shit worse.

“You’ll look fine. And it wouldn’t be right without you in it,” he said, that smile still there, sunny and welcoming in the face of the gloom of his general pessimism about himself. “Please?”

He swore silently because there was no saying no to that. He sighed, more to steady himself than to show annoyance. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

To his credit, Connor waited specifically for that permission and for him to give up his weak attempt at protesting to start tugging him forward. Standing side by side, it was real apparent he was uncomfortable, which only made looking at himself in the screen of Connor’s phone even worse. It was a whole self-defeating loop and Connor must’ve noticed it happening, because he did something that he was absolutely _not_ expecting.

“Don’t be so fucking stiff,” Connor prodded, nearly perfectly matching Hank’s low, gruff tone of voice when he made similar statements to him in the past. He could’ve used his ability to completely mimic him, but no, it was entirely his own imitation of him.

Which just made it _funnier_.

…And it also made Hank burst out a surprised laugh, because _holy shit_. A second after, he heard the sound of the phone snapping picture. Hank raised an eyebrow at Connor, who was practically beaming.

“Got it,” he declared, smugly. Hank looked at him skeptically, so he  held out his phone for him to take. He did, of course

“Well, shit,” he exhaled as he realized…yeah, he fucking got it. Perfect snap of the two of them cracking up, the stupid acorn UFO framed well above their heads. It was hard not to be struck with how happy he looked, because he honestly couldn’t remember the last time _any_ picture reflected that.

“I told you that you had nothing to worry about,” Connor practically preened. “Had I known mimicking you would get that kind of reaction, I’d have tried it earlier. It’s nice to see you laugh.”

There were times people said shit like that and it honestly was more of a passive aggressive insult. The intent was more to point out a _failure_ of doing something more often than legitimately being happy it happened. It wasn’t like that with Connor, who continued to regard him with such genuine affection that he barely knew what to do with it.

Seeing that feeling and his obvious reaction to it reflected in a picture somehow just made it harder. The warm feeling it sent through him was both familiar and _not_ supposed to be there, not about _him_.

“Congratulations, you got the one good shot of me in years,” he said dryly, trying to default to his usual indifference. His expression softened when he looked up and saw, despite the bite to the compliment, Connor was still clearly very glad to receive it. He was going to be the fucking death of him, he swore he was. “…Send it to my phone, alright?”

“Of course, Hank,” he said, taking it back when he was handed to him.

He purposely removed himself from his partner’s orbit then, needing space for – something. To breathe? To clear his head? Fuck if he knew. He made a show of motioning for him to follow, because obviously they needed to go to the shitty gift shop now. “By the way, I don’t sound like that.”

Connor easily fell into step with him, though his gaze for the moment was on his phone. A few moments later, he felt the telltale buzz of a message in his pocket – he’d already sent the picture over, apparently. “It wasn’t bad for me not using my ability to actually mimic you perfectly. I suppose all that matters is that it worked. That'll be one of many pictures, I hope.”

Hank snorted, though he glanced away, mostly because he was getting a sneaking suspicion he couldn’t quite keep his usual poker face up around him right now. “Yeah, maybe.”

 

* * *

 

Connor had to have been the owner’s favorite customer in years. By the time they left the little gift shop, he’d bought at least six things, only two of which were gifts for people not himself. For as ridiculous as the entire concept of it was, the silliness seemed to speak to him on some kind of deep level. He’d always had an appreciation for some of the weird shit humans did, so he guessed he really shouldn’t be all that surprised.

Hank got him the shirt he now had, though. Just because.

“I still don’t think this is a realistic representation of what someone from space would look like,” he said, holding the stuffed doll of a grey alien in his hands. They were on the road again, back on track. The earlier tension was nearly completely gone, a fact he was glad about.

“You do know Sumo is going to rip your _unrealistic_ alien to shreds when you give that thing to him,” he pointed out, lifting a brow.

“It’ll be worth it,” he countered, placing it back into its bag and putting it into the backseat of the car. He relaxed in his seat then, looking content. “You were correct, by the way. I did enjoy myself.”

“Hey, that’s me, the guy who knows some pretty decent stupid human shit. It’s a gift,” he joked, though he was glad to hear it. Glad it'd apparently worked in diffusing shit, though honestly? With a now _much_ cooler head, the farther they were from the morning, the worse he felt. He’d lost his temper in a way he shouldn't have, got too defensive.

Which was something he ought to say to Connor. It was a little worrying it might just ruin what good mood they were both now clearly in.

“As gifts go, there could be worse,” his partner offered diplomatically, and Hank just rolled his eyes. They fell into a silence that would’ve probably felt comfortable if not for the nagging fucking feeling he was dealing with, and there hit a point he knew he just had to come out with it.

“Hey, Connor. We uh - we good?” he asked, already feeling incredibly awkward about the entire thing. Connor tilted his head to look over at him, curious, and he couldn’t quite keep his gaze. “…I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier. I’m an asshole sometimes and you put up with a lot you probably shouldn’t.”

There was a long pause, and Hank briefly wondered if he really _had_ just ruined the moment. Before he stuck his foot in his mouth by trying to fix what he didn't even know was broken again or not, Connor spoke up.

“…I’m not much better, not with things like this. It’s probably why we’re friends,” he said with a quiet, thoughtful sound. “Or maybe you’re where I learned all of this all from and _that's_ why I'm bad at it.”

That snapped his attention right to his partner’s face. He found Connor was smirking in amusement at his reaction, the little shithead. “Hey, fuck you! You were a nosy asshole the second I met you, you can't blame that on me.”

“I was just offering a theory!" he exclaimed, laughingly, a sound Hank had to admit he liked on him, too. It was infectious, too, despite all attempts to keep a straight face and actually act like he was offended. When they both calmed down, Connor's smile was still there, just softer. “We’re fine, Hank, don’t worry about it. I also think if you've been a bad influence, it's been the best sort I could ask for.”

Hank exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and the last of the tension really did dissipate between them. He sat back again, staring out the front window, arms crossing against his chest. His chest felt a little tight at the compliment, too, and he really wasn't even sure what to say to it. “Well, good. I think.”

He could still feel Connor watching him. “Were you worried?”

He vaguely wondered if the android had scanned him, seen the drop of tension in his frame. He didn’t care if he had, honestly, but he knew he sure as hell _felt_ it melt away. Regardless, the question had a very long answer he could give, but the idea of really explaining how often he worried Connor would realize he was actually _was_ better off stuck with literally _anyone_ else was a conversation he intended on never having. Instead, he simply replied, “A little.”

Connor could’ve left it at that. Instead, Hank heard him audibly sigh. “I was, too.”

There was something comforting in the admittance that he didn’t expect. Some small part of him wanted to reach out and grab the hand that was resting on the median between them, squeeze it in a far too familiar gesture of comfort. He didn’t, of course - kept his fucking hands to himself, christ - but he wasn’t sure what to do with the knowledge that the thought was lingering there to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, [Space Acorn](http://nullrefer.com/?https://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/16860) is a real thing.
> 
> Yes, I absolutely mapped out their trip and made sure it made sense that it'd be on the way to their destination.
> 
> Roadside attractions are the best, you guys.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With no other major pit stops, the duo finally reach their destination. Their arrival is not without its own new set of hiccups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, wow, wow! I'm still very much blown away at getting even a fraction of the comments I've been receiving. You guys have honestly been wonderful, and I'm glad to know you all are still enjoying this. 
> 
> And hey look, we're finally at the beach!

They didn’t stop again, beyond a single detour that involved charging up the car and getting some semblance of a lunch at the attached rest stop (this was what he’d meant, Hank had reminded Connor, when he said that food on the road was _barely_ food) just to shut Hank’s stomach up. If he were honest, he hit a point eight or so hours in that he just wanted to fucking _get_ there. Not because of any kind of weirdness between them, but because he vastly overestimated his patience with long car rides now. The car they’d rented was outfitted with the ability to order movies, but he was just cheap enough to not buy into the over-expensive luxury.

 

“Give me your coin,” he’d requested eight and a half hours in, and Connor had done so with some small bit of amusement.

 

“Are you still trying to mimic what I do?” Connor asked, looking very much like he was trying not to laugh. Fucker.

 

“I’m getting better,” he argued, shooting him a look.

 

“How about I actually try to teach you,” he offered, endlessly patient even in the face of his partner’s petulance.

 

Nine and a half hours in, Hank was about to throw the coin out the damn window with the only thing stopping him was knowing it wasn’t his.

 

“Where’d you learn to do this shit, anyway?” he asked, failing to do anything approaching a fucking coin trick still, even with the legitimately decent guidance he’d been given for nearly an hour. Annoyed more than he probably ought to be, he just handed the stupid thing over before he did anything rash. “Or was someone at CyberLife really fucking bored and just programmed it into you?”

 

Connor paused, considering the question. He clearly had never thought about it. “I don’t really know, honestly. Perhaps it was a test of my hand’s dexterity that I accidentally tapped into?”

 

He let the coin glide between his fingers effortlessly, seemingly on instinct. It was a little mesmerizing to watch still, two years later.

 

“I find it to be a focus now when I need it. It helps,” he continued, stopping it between his middle and index fingers. His mouth twitched up into a small smile then. “It doesn’t hurt I know you like watching. Even if you pretend you don’t.”

 

Hank gaped at him, feeling his cheeks flush a little. “You –“

 

“I don’t mind,” he added, punctuating the sentiment by messing with the coin again. His gaze was very much on him, though. “That’s why I’ve never said anything.”

 

Hank wasn’t even sure where to fucking begin unpacking this. He was an idiot for assuming Connor didn’t notice him staring (at the tricks he did, at him in general too?), but to have him call it out, to outright say he did shit specifically because he _knew_? Some part of him understood this was something he probably should correct him on because people could _infer_ things when he said shit like that, but –

 

He didn’t. He just fucking didn’t.

 

(And he knew why, of course. Because he knew Connor would _stop_ if he did.)

 

“Yeah, well, when you’re idle and fucking around with that thing, I’m usually idle too. Hard not to watch when I’m bored,” he said instead, shrugging weakly.

 

Before he very much fucking looked away, he briefly caught Connor watching him with a similar, still indecipherable expression on his face - the same one he'd had during the entire diner fiasco. He still wasn’t sure what to make of it, nor did he try to puzzle it out. He was just glad they were almost there.

 

* * *

 

Hank very specifically picked a hotel close to the beach. Connor wanted to just stop at the ocean immediately, but he managed to convince him that they _at least_ needed to check-in first. It was pushing five already after all was said and done, and honestly, after the ride over, he wanted to collapse bonelessly into a bed and not get up until he had to.

 

As it turned out, they probably _should’ve_ went to the beach. The beach wouldn’t have been as fucking _aggravating_.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman at the counter said, patiently. They’d been going at this shit for at least ten minutes now even though at this point, Hank knew this shit really had been his fault. Connor seemed to sense his growing frustration, because he finally stepped in.

 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, easily, taking over the conversation smoothly. Hank just let it happen. “So this room only has one bed, is there any other one available?”

 

She paused, and though she didn’t have her LED, Hank knew she was probably triple checking her database for them at that point. She shook her head. “None that fit your parameters. As you can imagine, the rooms with a view of the water are our most popular and no one has cancelled their reservation. I do have a few smaller rooms that face away, if you’re interested in changing your reservation. I’ll even waive the fee.”

 

Hank was about to just fucking take one of those and be done with it, but Connor cut him off before he could.

 

“This one will be fine. May we have the key card?” he requested. She nodded, seemingly relieved this all was figured out and sorted, and went into the back to retrieve what they needed.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hank asked, at least having the good sense to keep his voice down.

 

“While I continue to appreciate you worrying about my sleeping arrangements, I will remind you _again_ I don’t actually need a bed,” Connor replied, shooting him a quick smile. “I will gladly take an ocean view over one.”

 

Hank wanted to argue, but he honestly knew at this point, it was either argue in front of this poor girl or go along with it. He opted for the latter, stepping back and letting Connor do the rest, because he was on edge and he didn’t want to take it out on someone who had no part of his screw up. He had cooled down somewhat by the time they got into the room, which quickly proved itself to be worth the price Hank had paid for.

 

Because he did, for once, decide _not_ to be cheap. Maybe that was what was bothering him. Sprung for the suite that he had thought would’ve perfect, but there was fucking single, giant bed in the middle of it all. He would’ve just stared at it, ruminating over his fuck up, but Connor pulled him out of his head.

 

“Wow.”

 

He had barely looked at _anything_ in the room. No, like a moth to a flame, Connor went right to one of the balcony windows, staring out at the scenery Hank knew this hotel was known for. He dropped his bags off to the side and went over to stand beside him. Feeling the tension of the argument he’d just had melting away, he found himself grinning.

 

“Come on,” he beckoned, sliding open the balcony door and heading out onto it. There were two seats and a small table in the middle there, overlooking a near panoramic view of the ocean. From afar, it was clear it was still packed despite it being decently late in the day by then, umbrellas dotting the landscape of the sand.

 

Hank stepped out to lean against the railing, taking a deep breath of the salty sea air. Somewhere above them, seagulls called out. Until that moment, he’d been wondering if the entire trip there had been worth all the trouble. Seeing it again after all these years and seeing _Connor_ see it was making him think otherwise.

 

“Everything you were hoping for?” he asked, glancing over as his partner stepped up and leaned on the railing in a similar way. The swirl of yellow made Hank wonder if he was just letting himself process all the new sensory shit around him.

 

“Footage did not do it justice,” he admitted, relaxed in a way Hank rarely saw him.

 

“I mean, the footage also was from a cheap flick,” Hank snorted, nudging his arm with his elbow. “You wanna go down closer to go see? I’m probably going to skip until tomorrow and go fucking eat or something, but you can go on your own.”

 

Connor shook his head.

 

“No, I’ll wait for you. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise,” he said, and Hank didn’t even fucking pretend he was glad he didn’t take him up on the offer. He wanted to see his reaction, as much as he’d never admit it. “This is enough for now. Perhaps you can get room service? It’s nice out here.”

 

“Stay inside and relax? Yeah, I think I can deal with that,” he snorted, turning to head inside. Connor lingered on the balcony and Hank just let him be, sitting on the bed. Really, he knew what he wanted – just a burger, nothing fancy – but he wanted to look for his partner, too. Sure enough, among the drink listing was the thirium stuff he knew he drank. To toss a few extra dollars on it, they apparently made it into a slushie of all things, which felt fucking weird, but –

 

Well, whatever. He called it in and then sort of flopped back onto the gigantic fucking bed that they still hadn’t discussed in any sort of fashion. It was nice on his back, at least, he gave it that. He hadn’t really considered what a literal pain in the ass driving that long would be and vaguely wondered how good the shower was in this room, because a long one would be fucking nice right about now. He heard the door of the balcony click closed and he tilted his head to watch Connor head over, hovering near him.

 

“You can sit, you know,” he said, motioning to the half that was still currently very much vacant. On cue - he had been waiting for that permission, as it turned out - he did slide on next to him, long legs dangling over the side. He leaned back, resting on his elbows.

 

“This bed is much softer than yours. And the one I use, as well,” he commented idly, pushing in a little to probably test the spring. Hank rolled his eyes.

 

“It better be, with the price I paid for this,” he replied. Connor glanced over, looking at him curiously.

 

“You insisted on paying, even though it was my idea. Are you still certain you don’t want to split the costs?” he asked. Hank inwardly winced, realizing he probably sound like he’d been complaining.

 

“Like I fucking spend much usually, anyway. It’s fine,” he insisted. It felt good to treat him, so he did. This was, as Connor had put it, a mutually beneficial trip, after all. “We probably should uh, fucking talk about this situation though.”

 

He didn’t really need to explain further. Connor eased himself back up into a properly seated position, hands resting on the soft blanket he was sitting on. “There _is_ a small single-person chair in here. I can use that when I need to enter stasis.”

 

Hank turned his head, looking sour. “You’re not sitting in a fucking chair for a week when you’re on vacation.”

 

“There’s also the chairs out on the balcony.”

 

Connor looked over his shoulder at Hank, mouth twitched up into a smile to show he was kidding. Which was good, because at least he didn’t need to _actually_ explain why putting him outside would be even _worse_.

 

“Fucker,” he huffed, pushing himself up so he was sitting next to him now. There was an option buzzing there, the most _obvious_ option, but the entire idea of bringing it up spiked a whole lot of unwanted feelings. Which was fucking stupid, they were _adults_ and the bed was _huge_. They could easily make this shit work.

 

“I know better than to suggest standing in a corner somewhere,” Connor continued, his options just getting worse on purpose. “What did you say when I first mentioned that back home, that it’d be creepy?”

 

“It _would_ be,” Hank shot back, running a hand through his hair nervously. He knew it was either bring it up now or lose his nerve, so he just pulled the trigger. “Look, Con, why don’t we just…it’s more than big enough for both of us, right?”

 

They were sitting side-by-side with absolutely no issue. There was more than enough room between them, it was obvious just by looking. Connor tilted his head, looking at him in a way that told him he caught on to what he was suggesting. “...I do not want you to be uncomfortable this entire trip.”

 

Hank forced out a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

(It was, he _knew_ it fucking was.)

 

“I mean, you’re a fucking statue when you sleep – power down – _whatever_ it is you do anyway,” he continued, because Connor was just staring at him in a way that it sure felt like he was seeing through his bullshit right now. “If anything, I’d be disrupting _you_.”

 

A beat. Connor looked like he was about to say something, but their room’s bell buzzed, giving a needed pause on this entire fucking conversation. He let the guy bring the stuff in, tipped him, and saw him out. There was exactly one weird looking drink container delivered – straw included – he assumed it was Connor’s.

 

“Yours,” he said, holding it out. Connor took it, though he raised a questioning eyebrow as he did. “It’s thirium, I know better to give you anything else.”

 

“I know, I was just surprised at how cold it felt,” he explained, taking a small, experimental sip and then, looking pleased, took a longer one.

 

Good. He liked it.

 

As for Hank, his burger was just that – a burger. A pretty good looking one, to be honest, but he wasn’t treading any new ground here.

 

“You still want to take this outside?” he asked, already lifting the plate and his beer (which, after the day he had, he _desperately_ needed at this point).

 

“That'd be nice,” Connor nodded, and Hank had a feeling he had been hoping he’d bring that up.

 

They ate in relative silence, despite the still unfinished conversation hanging over their heads. It surprisingly didn’t make things awkward, perhaps because it was hard to be tense looking out at such a view.

 

(He absolutely could get used to this.)

 

When the remains of their meal was left on the table between them a little while later, it was Connor who finally unpaused what they’d been talking about.

 

“I would prefer sleeping in the bed,” Connor said, venturing a look at Hank. “If you really do not mind.”

 

Hank knew, distantly, that there were probably other options. Accommodations the hotel could give if he only asked. That was the thing, though - he didn’t _want_ to ask. Taking the last sip of his beer, he placed it aside, feeling the pleasant buzz at least loosening him up a little.

 

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” he replied, and that was really that. Some part of him knew he was fucking asking for trouble. That he was _literally_ putting himself in a situation he knew he shouldn’t be putting himself in. There was just a larger part of him that didn’t care, and it won out easily.

 

He was nothing if not _really good_ at making _really bad_  decisions.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sleeping situation definitely ends up being a whole Situation.
> 
> Alternatively: Hank realizes he's really fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I sort of got inundated with a whole lot of nice comments at once in the last two days, and I feel like a broken record right now, but thank you all, it's legitimately a bright spot seeing the stuff I enjoy writing being enjoyed by other people.
> 
> (And a special shout out to the kind person who /sent me art/ in a DM - seriously, guys, I'm reeling rn lol.)
> 
> I debated whether I wanted to do such a hard focus on this, but ultimately decided you all will hopefully forgive me for very much enjoying leaning into this trope for a chapter. Ahem.
> 
> As always, you can find me chattering away and RTing good good art over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gottageekout). Feel free to say hello!

What a fucking horrendously bad decision he’d made.

 

Hank had lingered in the shower longer than normal. Part of it was because like _everything else_ in the suite, the thing was practically a shower fit for royalty in comparison to the piece of shit that was in his house, but the other, well –

 

Distant enough now from the conversation earlier about the sleeping arrangements, he was having all sorts of second thoughts. With those second thoughts came the grim realization that the fact those thoughts even _existed_ meant he was forced to face shit that he had been actively not been facing for _months_. Their relationship had never been remotely normal, but he could always easily point to the fact Connor was obviously a very different kind of person in comparison to anyone he’s ever been around. But this? He fucking knew this feeling that had been growing, but it came to surface in such small spurts that he had able to shrug it off before.

 

Not anymore.

 

He wasn't an idiot. The fact he was standing in the shower, worrying about his partner noticing anything amiss had glaring implications of what was happening. He’d also ensured earlier, by acting like bunking together wasn't a big deal, that any attempt to renege the offer and come up with another option would be hard to fucking miss as being _off_. Connor was practically a bloodhound for shit like that and whether or not he called him out on it, he knew it'd be hanging between them regardless.

 

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, pressing his forehead against the warm, wet tile of the shower. He had to pull himself together, he knew that. Bury it all and deal with it, it was only a couple of days before normalcy kicked in again. The repercussions if he didn’t would most likely not go well.

 

He knew better than to read into things more than he ought to.

 

So he forced himself to stop thinking for a while. It helped, a little, though only the realization he'd been in the shower long enough to notice pruning on his fingers was what finally gave him the final push to turn the water off. Steady about shit or not,, he got out, dried off, and pulled on an undershirt and some boxers. Didn't fucking stall any longer as he left the bathroom and entered the main section of the suite, shivering a little as the air conditioning in the room cooled his warmed skin.

 

“All yours,” he announced, as if nothing was wrong. He spotted Connor curled up in the chair in a familiar position, watching some random shit on TV. The curious look his partner shot him immediately made him nervous- maybe it was Hank’s paranoia talking, but he immediately felt like he was caught.

 

“Are you all right?” Connor asked, which only made shit _worse_. Before he could come up with some lie that could conceivably explain anything he might've noticed if he had just scanned him, his non-reply apparently was enough for his partner to add, in explanation, “You were in there longer than normal.”

 

Of course. Hank tried not to look relieved.

 

“Trip took more out of me than I expected, so I decided to actually enjoy the fact this shower doesn't randomly go cold every couple minutes. Getting fucking old, I guess,” he huffed out a laugh, calming down a little. He could play all of this off, he had this.  Connor hesitated, still watching him, before seeming to accept the excuse and getting up. Hank watched him collect his stuff. “You’ll like it, this place was worth its price. Better than the shit back home, anyway.”

 

“I don’t need anything special,” Connor shrugged at the comment. “I like living with you and Sumo.”

 

“Mostly Sumo,” he snorted, though it’d be a lie if he said he didn’t like hearing the admittance.

 

“Both of you,” he insisted, pausing when he was beside him, about to pass into the bathroom. Hank could see the grin lift onto his face out of the corner of his eye. “…Though Sumo is much better behaved.”

 

He was gone before Hank could retaliate with what was going to be a solid elbow to his side. The door closed a few seconds later, and despite everything, despite fucking everything, he was smiling to himself.

 

“Fucker,” he sighed, though there was no bite to the word at all.

 

He was tempted to just pace at that point, nerves getting to him in ways he still was trying not to think too much about, but he just forced himself to get in the damn bed instead because pacing accomplished nothing. There was a part of him that was very much considering attempting to fall asleep before he even came back out, but there was no fucking way he was going to be relaxed enough by then.

 

So he just watched TV. Acted like everything was normal and not entirely fucked up. Connor emerged a little while later, hair messy and in similar attire. His gaze caught Hank’s and he smiled and normal went right the fuck out the window again. He wasn’t even trying and he was just so fucking _much_ sometimes. He watched as he walked over to the unoccupied side of the bed. What he _expected_ to happen was Connor, oblivious, to simply slip into bed next to him and get comfortable.

 

What _happened_ was for the first time in a long time, his partner very obviously turned his head in such a way that he couldn’t quite see his LED.

 

That was –

 

Something. Hank watched him, saw his somewhat tense body language – he was so much more expressive than it used to be, he couldn't fucking hide shit like he used to be able to with him – and wondered what was going through his head. Still, hiding shit period really wasn’t like him, and he found himself getting a little concerned. When he finally spoke, his tone was more formal than it usually was.

 

“I really do not need a bed to be comfortable,” Connor reminded, to Hank’s surprise. He didn’t at all expect his partner to give him what absolutely was another out, but there it was. He could take it if he wanted to, stop this shit now. Send him off to sleep on the chair. It was right there.

 

...Except he would feel like an asshole and he knew it. Connor was obviously giving a shit about his comfort (because what _else_ could the hesitation be about?), so he knew he needed to do the same thing. He sighed, pulling down the covers on the side he was hovering in front of.

 

“Just lay down, Connor,” he said, though he purposely made sure he didn’t sound annoyed or angry, a conscious effort of trying to at least _sound_ okay. Connor still seemed a little unsure before finally looking at him, the yellow glow now very evident. It eased into blue not long after.

 

Whatever he saw looking at him calmed him down, he guessed. He didn’t fucking know anymore.

 

Connor slid into bed in one smooth movement then, reaching down and retrieving the bunched up blanket to cover himself with fully as he laid under it. Hank couldn’t remember the last time they were as close as they were as he settled in – probably the last time he got into Connor’s face when they weren’t getting along and he was still an angry shithead of a person.

 

How times had fucking changed.

 

Some part of him knew he probably should shift and turn his back to him, which had to be the least awkward way of doing this. But he didn’t, not immediately. No, instead, he briefly indulged himself by getting a good look, even though he knew later the uglier voice in his head would chide him for being a broken old man whose self-destructive tendencies apparently had moved from drinking too much to only feeling shit for someone who was wholly unavailable and deserved better even if he wasn’t.

 

If Connor noticed his lingering gaze, he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed like he was searching his face for something too, and Hank vaguely wondered if he was making sure things were still okay. Looking for cues that Hank probably wasn’t showing, because he was steadfastly attempting to at least play neutral right now.

 

Hank finally cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “…Nothing uh, weird happens when you go dark for a while, right? I mean, that I should know about.”

 

Connor raised an eyebrow at him, looking both confused and, eventually, a little amused. “What do you _think_ might happen?”

 

“I don’t fucking know,” Hank huffed, glancing away. “I’ve never sat and watched an entire cycle, I was just making sure.”

 

“I can assure you, nothing of note will happen. I technically _could_ replicate normal human sleep if that’d make you more comfortable, however,” he offered. “So I’m not a _statue_ , as you rather crassly put it.”

 

Hank looked a little sheepish, even though Connor had clearly mentioned it less because he was upset and likely more to remind him he probably should think before he said shit like that. It was a fair point.

 

“Uh, well, it really – it really doesn’t matter, I don’t think,” he replied, feeling awkward as he realized Connor earnestly was asking him about his preferences. Preferences he _knew_ he fucking had but was wholly unwilling right now to cop to, because all of this was ridiculous enough. “Have you ever tried it?”

 

“No, but I’ve also never slept next to someone before tonight,” he replied, gaze seeming to flick up to catch his. Hank knew that, of course he did, but the feelings stirred up hearing him _say_  it made him never want to abort a conversation he started so much in his entire life. His partner seemed cheerfully oblivious to what he was fucking doing to him. “With that being the case, there was little need to consider it until now. It might be interesting.”

 

Hank sighed at length, still unwilling to throw his opinion into this. _Especially_ now. “I really don’t care either way, Connor. You want to try it, knock yourself out. Goodnight.”

 

And then he shifted carefully so he was turned away, which he hoped Connor understood as the universal sign that the conversation was _over_. He seemed to get it, because not long after, the lights went out and the TV turned off – Connor probably interfaced with them both remotely. He felt some shifting besides him until his partner finally settled. Hank ventured a look over his shoulder a few minutes later, noting that instead of being flat on his back, he was on his side.

 

He guessed he was trying it after all. And now he had to fucking try to sleep, which felt like a near impossible feat at this point.

 

* * *

 

Hank didn’t know when he finally passed out.

 

Waking up, however, was an experience unto itself. He was aware of the fact his arm was fucking _numb_ , which was more than enough to rouse him to begin with. Half asleep and groggy, the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a shock of brown hair and it didn’t immediately click why.

 

And then it fucking _did_ , and he felt his heart thud hard in his chest.

 

He knew he tended to be a restless sleeper, but apparently Connor in his fucking normal sleeping mode was the same way. At some point during the night, he had turned around and Connor had seemingly done the rest. He was nestled against him, pinning Hank’s arm down into the bed under his deceptively heavy body. Venturing a look down, his partner looked utterly peaceful where he was, face pressed into the extremely thin cloth of his shirt.

 

He stopped looking then, because fuck, there were things that could happen right now that could make this exponentially _worse_. Instead, he tried to carefully tug his arm free, wincing a little when his unyielding weight refused to let that happen. He laid still then, wide awake now, face probably flushed red for reasons that weren’t the exertion he just put out trying to get out of the situation without waking his partner up.

 

There were two options in front of him now. Hope Connor would be awake soon (likely – the sun was coming up) or wake him up himself, which he had no fucking idea how to do. He was about to do the latter when he stopped, just fucking staring down at the sight in front of him.

 

His free hand lowered and rested on his own hip.

 

He waited. He’d tell himself later it was to slow the thudding of his heart, to collect himself before a moment he knew was going to be awkward. It was a better excuse than the idea he was letting himself have this one thing for a little while, because it was entirely possible this was never going to happen again. He shut his eyes and just tried to doze, ignoring the discomfort in the arm that was still under his partner.

 

Some things worth dealing with.

 

He didn’t really fall back asleep again, but he had somewhat relaxed by the time he noticed Connor stirring. It was interesting to watch, because he’d mostly assumed he just sort of popped awake. Instead, it was a gradual thing, not unlike how he woke up, though he imagined with Connor, shit was booting up one by one or something. For the first few moments of incomplete awareness, he felt Connor press further against him, removing what little space there'd been between them, his fingers gripping at the fabric he was resting against. Hank stiffened in surprise, unable to suppress a sharp intake of breath.

 

There was no time to process him practically fucking fitting his body against his. Connor’s LED went pure red within seconds afterwards. Hank watched as he released him the moment he likely realized what he was doing, rearing back and away and nearly falling off the edge of the bed in the process of putting space between them. The weight on his arm was gone, and he winced, sitting up and rubbing it.

 

There was a long stretch of silence. 

 

“Connor -" he finally said, though faltered, worried he might make shit worse. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out in a clipped tone and Hank could still see the _red-red-red_ swirling. "I did not think that would happen."

 

There was a brief few seconds Hank thought about being as blunt and honest as his partner tended to be with him. Just outright say that it had been a nice way to wake up and that he could fucking do that whenever. It was fleeting, but it was there, and that said a lot. What he did do was sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“Well, lesson fucking learned about how much you move at night, I guess. Shit happens,” he reassured, opting to calm him down instead of trying to immediately escape the situation. It was fucking tempting to get up, though. Too fucking tempting.

 

Connor was silent, though he could see the red at least calmed to yellow after Hank's awkward attempt at brushing it all off as less than what it was. Despite the reassurances, he still seemed troubled, and it was too fucking early and Hank was too wound up to figure out how to deescalate the situation entirely.

 

“We’re going to want to leave early if you plan on getting a decent spot on the beach,” he continued, trying the age-old tactic of just changing the subject.

 

His partner simply nodded and Hank sighed, standing up. Could feel the eyes on him as he grabbed the minimum amount of shit he needed so he could conceivably be ‘getting ready’ for a little while. He nearly was in the bathroom when Connor finally spoke up.

 

“Hank?”

 

He stopped midstep, glancing over his shoulder. Connor hesitated, still looking unsure and very much not looking him in the eye.

 

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

 

There it was, what he knew was coming before Connor had even woken up, when he realized there was no way to quietly remove himself from the situation they'd been in. There was a finality to the statement, one that made his heart clench. Everything had been fucking confusing between them lately – even before this trip - but he could see with startling clarity the wall that was solidifying between them, its presence dependent on how he answered. Everything felt like too fucking much, though. He didn’t do shit like this. He didn't, but fuck, he _had_ to right now, didn't he?

 

“I'm not fucking complaining for a reason. Don't bother, it's fine,” he replied before sense could override his decision to just fucking leave it, the closest he could bring himself to being forward. Connor looked him in the eye for the first time that morning, sharp and a little surprised. Hank didn’t hold his gaze to try to read him further, nor did he give him a chance to say anything in return. “Get ready to go, okay?”

 

He left him sitting there, practically fleeing into the bathroom, leaning heavily against the door after he closed it behind him. There was no real comfort in removing himself from the conversation, the damage had been done. 

 

“What the fuck are you doing, Anderson?” he muttered under his breath, because shit, it just felt like he may have started something he didn’t know how to even begin to deal with.

 

A sharp spike of anxiety struck him at the mere _thought_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tension is broken (for now, at least) and Connor finally gets to see the ocean up close for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo, welcome to the beach (finally!). As always, thank you all for your lovely comments, they continue to make me glad I decided to sit down and put this story together instead of just letting it float formless in my head. :P
> 
> Feel free to say hello on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gottageekout).

Hank could only linger in the bathroom so long. Gathering himself with a good amount of inner scolding for being so fucking _stupid_ , he got ready, pulling on what he’d mostly grabbed because it seemed like the shit he’d brought to wear. Staring at himself in the mirror afterwards, clad in a blue Hawaiian shirt and swimming trunks, and honestly just felt fucking old. Too old for this shit he had just pulled, especially with someone like Connor. But he’d done it, and if there were repercussions, he had to deal with them, because it wasn't like there was anywhere he could avoid it right now.

 

It was hard to simply know he had to hope for the best, but that was literally his only option.

 

He found Connor out on the balcony when he finally decided he was ready to suck it up and headed out. He had, in fact, listened to his instruction to get ready and at some point changed into what he was wearing to the beach: a thin, airy white shirt and solid blue board shorts that reached to his knees. It was simple, efficient, and very much _Connor_. It was hard to miss how stiffly he was holding himself too, which contrasted so sharply with the casual outfit he was wearing.

 

Connor tilted his head in his direction as he approached. Hank stepped up beside him instead of lingering like an idiot nearby, elbows coming to rest on the railing. Everything still felt charged, awkward, and he realized Connor didn’t have the wealth of experience in _everything being fucked up_ to know what he was supposed to do. It was that moment that it sunk in that yeah, it did literally fall to him to make this shit better. Putting any kind of responsibility like this on him was a _terrible_ idea in general, but he knew there was no other options.

 

Fucking hell.

 

“Gonna keep staring at it from here or we heading down to see it up close?” he asked. Connor finally turned his head to fully look at him and Hank caught his eye. “I didn’t sit in a car for almost an entire day for you to hang out on a balcony.”

 

He saw his partner’s gaze soften a little at that. His stupid light was finally blue, too, which was a welcome sight after seeing it as red as it’d gotten. He _knew_ what stress did to his systems.  “…I believe this was a vacation for you, not for me.”

 

“You think I would’ve came if it were all just for me? There’s a reason I haven’t been here for who knows how long,” he replied frankly, lifting a brow at him. Connor looked briefly surprised before the corner of his mouth upticked into a tiny smile. Hank clapped him on the shoulder companionably. “Come on, there’s a beach chair I need to go pass out in for a while out there.”

 

He felt Connor's shoulders, still tense, relax slowly under his palm. The entire plan Hank had just put together on the fly had mostly been focused on trying to reassure him the normalcy could still be there, and it seemed like it worked. _At least for now_ , his mind unhelpfully reminded him, but fuck that shit, it was enough.

 

“You’re going to sleep when you could just do that here?” he asked pointedly, amused, as they easily fell into sync with each other as if nothing had been wrong at all, getting the scant few things they were bringing with them together.

 

It sounded exactly like what he wanted to do, in fact. He pushed the door open, waiting for him to finish up gathering his stuff. “...If you let me. You probably won’t, though.”

 

Connor hummed in agreement. “As always, your deduction skills are incredibly impressive.”

 

Hank rolled his eyes. 

 

“In this case, I just know you too fucking well,” he stated bluntly, though there might’ve been a note of fondness in his voice.

 

It was equally part of his charm as it was a giant pain in his ass.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, he had been completely right, he could practically see there was no quiet beach visit in his future. Maybe if he were alone, it’d be different, but he was on a trip with someone whose curiosity practically propelled him from one thing to another, constantly seeking out something new. As much as it continued to clash with his own personality, he really didn’t mind it, not usually, even if he did gripe occasionally.

 

Besides, it was also really hard not to enjoy seeing Connor’s reaction as he stepped into the sand for the first time. There was zero doubt in his head that if he weren’t carrying the chairs they’d rented, he’d be making a fucking beeline to the water. Instead, as they walked over to what Hank decided would be a perfect place to plant themselves – there was a lot less beach than he remembered, so it at least wasn’t a far trek – he was looking around like he was fucking committing everything he was seeing to memory.

 

And honestly, Hank was looking around too. The landscape had changed in so many ways. Every so often, he saw duos or trios of people with LED lights like Connor’s, enjoying the day alongside everyone else. It was little shit like that that reminded him of what had been accomplished. And for the better, if you asked him, even if he was admittedly biased. Two years ago, none of this would’ve been a blip in Connor’s head. In any of their heads, really, unless they were told to.

 

“Under this umbrella?” Connor asked to confirm, drawing him out of his thoughts.

 

“Yeah, this is fine,” he decided, though he took a few moments to really consider it because he knew they’d be stuck there for a while. After all, the place would be filled to the brim with people within hours - the day was perfect, sunny but not too hot, with barely any clouds in the sky – so space would be limited soon enough. The spot was right by the water, though not close enough to get caught up in high tide.

 

He helped plant the chairs into the sand. Connor finished putting his in first, and Hank could see him already kicking off the sandals he had on, experimentally digging his feet into the warm sand underneath them.

 

“It’s not as firm as I imagined,” he observed, once he noticed Hank was watching him with some amusement because fuck, it was a little bizarre watching someone getting excited about _sand_. ”I’d imagined it’d be a little more like walking on soil.”

 

Hank nodded toward the water. “It’ll feel a little like it over there. Wet soil, I guess. It’s what kids use to make sandcastles and shit.”

 

Cole had been excited to make them when he came, practically dragging Hank closer to the water with the toys he’d use to create shapes with packed, wet sand, much like some kids were already doing not far from them. The thought made his heart twist a little, but he did his best to remind himself that he’d rather get struck by good memories instead of bad ones. He must’ve zoned out for a few moments, because when he focused on Connor again, he realized he was watching him with a worried expression.

 

It was like being partners with a fucking _mood ring_.

 

“I’m fine, Connor,” he sighed, knowing the question was coming. He didn’t look all too convinced.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he prompted instead, about as careful as he always was around the subject.

 

The answer that came immediately to mind was _no_. But he knew not talking about shit was basically why he’d been a wreck to begin with, and if there were ever anyone he’d be comfortable about the conversation with, it’d be him. Considering the trip’s potential to keep reminding him of shit, it was probably better to say something now than not. He scrubbed at his face, frowning.

 

“It’s just – I was just thinking about the shit Cole made when we took him here. Better than any castle I ever came up with as a kid. He was always more creative than me, though,” he explained. It wasn’t much, but going too deeply about any of this shit felt like it’d kill the mood. Connor was quiet for a few beats, probably coming up short with what to say.

 

“…I wish I could’ve seen it,” Connor admitted, and Hank knew he wasn’t just saying that shit. He didn’t do empty words, not with him. Maybe that was why it was such a punch in the gut.

 

Because yeah, Hank wished he could have too. He wished Cole could’ve met Connor period - he knew they would’ve gotten along, because Cole had the same extroverted personality. Not that he could even really know if things would’ve shaped out the way they did if he hadn’t been a washed-up cop that put him on the android case to get him out of his funk. Maybe they would’ve never met at all, maybe he’d have been assigned to someone else completely.

 

It was strange to imagine that ever happening. Somewhere along the way, he hit a point where he couldn’t really imagine Connor not being there, but all it would’ve taken was things to be a little different.

 

“Was that the wrong thing to say?”

 

Fuck, he wasn’t going to think any harder about it. The what ifs were what had him paralyzed for years, he couldn’t go back to that. Instead, at the question, he just shook his head. Smiled a little. “No, I was just thinking he probably would’ve loved you. Even when you weren’t you entirely.”

 

And a stray thought followed that that he refused to define or acknowledge, because he didn’t think he was ready for it. Connor seemed equal parts touched by the idea as he was clearly nervous, still trying to be careful around the land mines that he knew his past was.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Connor,” he finally said, feeling like he was practically watching him attempt to craft the perfect response.

 

“I just do not want to upset you,” he admitted, which Hank had already guessed.

 

Hank shook his head. There was really nothing he could’ve said that would’ve made it hurt more, at least. Maybe make him a little more wistful, but. “Let me guess: that you bet you’d have liked him too, right? Because you would have. He was a good kid.”

 

Connor nodded, seemingly glad Hank picked up the sentiment he was trying to convey. Hank exhaled a breath before forcing himself to pull himself together. It was something he could actually _do_ now, when there’d been a time his only option would’ve been falling apart. Baby steps, he supposed.

 

“Anyway, you don’t need to hang around here,” he said, more than ready to change the subject as he motioned to the water.

 

Connor looked confused. “You’re not coming?”

 

“I did mention, specifically, that I was going to sit and pass out on the beach, right?” he reminded.

 

“You have all day to do that,” Connor countered and then proceeded to pull that fuckin sad, pleading face he did when he really wanted something. “Come on, Hank.”

 

Well, it had been worth a shot, as much as he did know it’d be in vain to begin with. Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. There were very few times the expression didn’t work on him and he fucking knew it. It was cheating if you asked him, but he didn’t point that out in fear of Connor not realizing the power he wielded and arming him with that knowledge.

 

(Nor did he want to admit it to himself, to be absolutely frank.)

 

“Christ,” he muttered, not even bothering to put up a fight. “Fine. Just for a little while.”

 

And the fucker was all smiles again. Hank just shook his head before starting to unbuttoning his shirt, feeling a vague amount of self-consciousness strike him in a way he rarely gave a shit to notice. He looked up to see Connor peeling off his own shirt and then immediately looked away, knowing if he didn’t he’d just end up staring. It was one thing to have a general knowledge he was probably fucking flawless, it was another to have it on display right in front of him, especially after the kind of morning he had had.

 

He let his own shirt drop onto the towel he brought, resigning himself to the knowledge they were going to be even _more_ of a mismatched pair now. He scratched his beard with a sigh, finally venturing a look again.

 

…And saw he was watching him again. Same fucking look as before. Hank had very, very little patience with it in the face of his own discomfort.

 

“ _What_?” he asked, sharply.

 

“Oh,” Connor blinked, immediately averting his gaze and turning his head away, looking noticeably guilty. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to stare, I was just waiting for you to be ready.”

 

He immediately felt a little bad snapping at him, even though Connor was clearly taking it in stride. This was supposed to be a good day for him, he knew he had to be better about not being an asshole.

 

“Don’t worry about it. And yeah, ready as I’ll ever be,” he announced once he toed his sandals off himself. At this point, he was already feeling hot enough that the waves that were slowly rolling to shore were starting to look inviting.

 

He felt a hand clasp his, drawing his attention away from the scenic view in front of them back to Connor, a surprised brow lifting. His partner was practically beaming at him, excitement evident and now entirely uncontained. He’d jokingly compared him to Sumo before when he got like this, and it’d earned him a Look, but fuck if it wasn’t true right now.

 

“Excellent,” he said, and then he was being tugged forward with just enough strength to not entirely be sure if he could fight against it if he wanted to. He was sure he could feel curious onlookers watching them as they passed the numerous beachgoers around them, but it was hard to think about it when he was he was getting swept along with Connor’s relentless energy. He finally came a stop when they reached the tide’s edge and it was only then that he released his hand, probably satisfied he wasn’t going to back out on coming along. He just stood there for a long moment then, looking out, expression shifting to something more reverent.

 

It meant a lot for him to be there. To enjoy it. Hank had known on some level that’d be true, but it was something different to see it. It was evident all over his face, now more than ever, and it was…nice to see, to say the least. He eventually walked up beside him and, pressing a hand against the small of his back, gently pushed him forward. He stumbled just a little before his center of balance easily returned to him, though he’d been propelled forward enough to be in the very edge of the tide. A wave rolled in, lapping against both of their feet. It was a comfortable temperature, not too freezing, and certainly refreshing with the sun beating harshly down on them.

 

Something he knew Connor probably couldn’t feel, lucky bastard.

 

“Not bad, right?” Hank prompted, watching him probably fucking analyzing every second of this.

 

“I didn’t imagine there’d be such a pull when it leaves the shore,” he noted, and then he was finally heading in on his own, taking a few sloshing steps forward until he was up to his knees.

 

“Yeah, that’s why it can get dangerous. Don’t let that shit drag you out to sea, I won’t be able to bring you back,” he called out as he watched him go, remembering very specifically how fucking heavy he was this morning.

 

“I think I’ll be fine,” Connor replied dryly, leaning down and letting his hand dunk under the water. The waves smacked into him and he barely seemed to notice and definitely wasn’t being moved by it. Hank, on the other hand, felt the pull keenly as he started wading in himself, had to pay attention to make sure the undertoe didn’t drag him anywhere he didn’t want to go.

 

He only noticed something was amiss when he got close enough to nearly be next to him. He was confused briefly at what he was seeing until he realized Connor had allowed his skin to deactivate up to his wrist, letting the ocean water flow through his pale, white fingertips. He hadn’t really even considered his synthetic skin getting in the way of shit.

 

“Does it feel any different with your hand like that?” he asked, wondering if he was fucking blundering into a moment he shouldn’t have, even if Connor had insisted on him coming to begin with. He didn’t startle, at least, so he guessed it was fine.

 

It wasn’t like he could fucking sneak up on anyone in this water anyway.

 

Connor offered no reply at first at all, though Hank can see his expression shift to something thoughtful. Eventually, his mouth turned down and he seemed…disappointed, perhaps. “I don’t really know how to describe it with words. I wish I could show you. It’s a little overwhelming. In a good way, though.”

 

Interfacing was what he was talking about, he knew without even asking. He’d seen androids do it with each other, of course. Being around Connor practically _ensured_ that his life was always going to involve them in one form or another. From what he’d heard of it, he knew it was probably for the best they _couldn’t_. He barely liked being in his own head, never mind subjecting someone else to it, and it didn’t really sound like it could be a one-way street.

 

(But the fact that Connor wanted it wasn’t lost on him.)

 

Leaning down once he planted his feet firmly into the sand next to him, he let his own hand dunk into the water. It wasn’t anything he’d really concentrated on before, but he tried now, focused on the feeling of the water ebbing and flowing against it, and honestly, it was nice. He might've missed this more than he'd thought he had.

 

They stayed that way for a little while longer. He felt Connor’s hand brush against his slightly as he pulled it out first and Hank vaguely could feel an odd prickling sensation when it happened, though he wasn't sure if he was just imagining it. Looking over to ask, he instead was just in time to see his partner pop one of those shiny, metallic looking fingers into his mouth experimentally.

 

“Jesus Christ, Connor, seriously?” he groaned, even as a laugh burst out of him right after. “Do you know how much shit is probably in this water?”

 

“I could give you an exact analysis if you wish, Hank,” he offered, in the kind of tone that denoted he really was just saying it to be a smartass.

 

Hank just fucking splashed him, absolutely drenching him in the process. Connor shook himself out, huffing out a laugh himself, but there was a very noticeable wicked, mischievous gleam in his eye.

 

It was that moment Hank had a feeling he’d just made a mistake.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a good day at the beach, Hank convinces Connor to check out some of the shore's nightlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be getting to replies from the last chapter soon (hopefully tomorrow morning), apologies for being a bit slow this week, life is kind of kicking my ass and this chapter was a bit longer than usual for Reasons.
> 
> This one was another one I was looking forward to writing, for what it's worth. :)
> 
> Anyway! Thank you for your continued support. As always, feel free to say hello on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gottageekout).

Hank had to hand it to Connor, he was, in fact, relaxed.

 

Relaxed to the point he couldn’t even remember how long it’d been since he felt like this. Even as the day drew on and more people crowded the area, there was something about having no responsibilities and no cases hanging over his head that Hank had missed. Connor had even let him kick back for a while, which was a miracle in itself.

 

By late afternoon, Hank was almost positive he was aiming to exhaust every beach activity he had ever come across by the end of their vacation. Hank had just kept letting him get it out of his system, though the walk he’d left on was his longest by far. He’d been dozing when Connor finally returned, holding something. He couldn’t really see what it was until he plopped into the sand beside him, cradling a shell in his hand in an oddly gentle manner.

 

Hank knew what it was before the thing even peeked its head out.

 

“We’re not keeping it,” he said immediately. Connor made a face at him.

 

“I wasn’t going to ask,” he insisted, placing the shell gently in the sand underneath their umbrella. After a few moments, sure enough, Hank could see the hermit crab poking itself out, its stalk-looking eyes just as creepy as he remembered them looking. “I spotted him while looking for interesting shells and thought you’d like to see.”

 

“I’ve seen plenty already,” he said. It started to scuttle away, dragging its overlarge claw. Connor carefully picked it up and placed it back in its original spot when it started to get too far. “Go on the boardwalk and people have a bunch of them on sale to bring home. Probably a couple games have them as a big prize. I’m surprised it didn’t pinch the hell out of your hand.”

 

“He did,” Connor shrugged. Hank distantly wondered if it had just felt like pressure – he didn’t feel pain, after all. “He’s very temperamental, reminds me of you when you’re in a sour mood.”

 

Hank rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

 

“You know, his shell looks a little like one of your shirts,” he continued, sounding absolutely delighted when he realized it.

 

“Alright, go put it back by the water.”

 

But he fucking laughed, too, because yeah, he could see the shirt thing. Connor shot him a quick grin as he gently scooped it up, heading back toward the shoreline. It didn’t take him long to come back, finally planting himself next to Hank in his barely used seat.

 

“Today has been a good day,” he decided, as if Hank couldn’t guess he’d enjoyed himself.

 

“Any day without Fowler breathing down my neck has its perks,” he quipped, pushing his sunglasses down his nose. “We gonna do anything after this?”

 

Connor considered the question. “Food, certainly, for you. Did you have anything else in mind?”

 

He thought of the various bars lining the beach. He didn’t doubt they were as hopping as they were in his youth. It’d been a long time, but he doubted that bars with cheap beach decorations ever went out of style.

 

“Could see the night life after,” he suggested with a shrug. He’d never actually seen Connor deal with a bar that wasn’t for old, depressed assholes like him.

 

“I can’t drink,” he pointed out, as if they had not had this conversation countless times before.

 

“They’re less bars and more contained parties,” he replied, because he was, as always, well aware the scene did little for him generally. “I’m not talking the usual seedy shit you’ve seen in Detroit. You might even have fun.”

 

Connor was nothing if not someone generally up for trying shit. At the mention of it being different than what he was imagining Hank was suggesting, he seemed sold on the idea. “…Perhaps it could be interesting.”

 

“I’ll find something good,” he promised. And if they didn’t, they could just go back.

 

Didn't seem like a bad plan at all.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t exactly hard to find a place that fit the description Hank had suggested. There were plenty of restaurants and bars facing the ocean, many of them with decks that added welcome space to how busy they were inside the actual premises. Busy ones weren’t Hank’s scene at all, not since his days in the academy maybe, but Connor –

 

Well, he imagined Connor would probably like it, which was the entire point. Be the fucking social butterfly he always was, just with people he didn’t work with constantly for once. The one they settled on even declared androids welcome on the door as they went inside. The crowd was exactly as expected, a healthy mix of human and androids mulling about in a colorfully decorated surf-inspired bar. It opened out into a deck outside, where string lights were hanging, the lighting giving off a dreamy sort of quality.

 

There was a table free in a quieter corner of the bar. It didn't take much to make their way through the small crowd of people who were talking, drinking, and enjoying the music that was blasting through the speakers. It was some shit Hank never listened to – catchy pop stuff, music that certainly reeked of summer. The whole place bounced with an energy Hank was sure Connor had never seen before.

 

Connor was, of course, eating it up. Once they had sat down, he started watching the goings on with intense interest, to the point he could practically see his partner scanning things one after the other. He excused himself to get a drink and was greeted by an extensive listing of cocktails and fruity alcoholic concoctions being advertised behind the bar. While he didn't have any interest in something likely sickeningly sweet to him, he did see a drink for the android patrons of the bar, just like the hotel had.

 

He ordered one of those too, which made the wait twice as long. It was worth it, though, seeing Connor react to the bright blue cocktail he put in front of him when he finally put both drinks on the table.

 

“Like I said, they're really fucking catering to you guys now,” Hank shrugged, amused. Yeah, it was fucking weird knowing the drink was basically the shit Connor drank to sustain the shit that kept him alive, but who was he to question it?

 

After all, he was pleased to be included, it was evident on his face, and Hank realized that was _probably_ the point. If it meant paying extra for a nicer glass and an umbrella put into it, so be it.

 

“You didn’t try something new?” Connor asked, looking over at the beer on the table.

 

“Nah, the shit they’re selling are way too fucking sweet for me,” he said, shrugging. Maybe he’d have one eventually, but tonight wouldn’t be the night. He watched him take a sip of his drink. “Yours alright?”

 

“It is still simply thirium, but the presentation is impressive,” he said, stirring the drink a little. "The umbrella is a nice touch."

 

Hank was about to quip something in reply when he noticed a few people approaching them. It put him on edge immediately, which Connor picked up far before he noticed the group too. They stopped at the table – four in all, one of which was definitely familiar in the way a lot of androids were because of mass production. There was only so many modifications that could be done.

 

“Are you Connor?” one asked. The realization all of them were likely androids didn’t stop Hank from being on his guard. While most in the days, weeks, and months after the revolution seemed to easily throw Connor into the mix of fucking heroic figures, there’d been outliers. Ones who considered Connor as a threat, regardless of everything he'd done to try to make up for something that hadn't been in his control to begin with.

 

Connor generally diffused the situations easily, but Hank was always ready just in case he needed backup. There was a protective streak in him he wouldn’t deny.

 

“That’s me, yes,” he replied, looking at the four of them with his usual wide, affable smile. “You all have me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid.”

 

His affirmation caused a bit of an excited murmur among the four. When they spoke again, the one that was familiar – was he part of the line that used to do groundskeeper work? Hank still wasn’t sure – spoke up for the group. “It’s seriously an honor to meet you,”

 

Apparently they had approached for an entirely opposite reason. Hank’s gaze flicked to Connor to see how he'd react. For the most part, his partner had very much made it a rule to stay out of the spotlight, more than happy to allow his single contribution to stand as his one and only public act and privately aided Markus when called upon, especially when he needed the DPD’s assistance. Still, it wasn’t like people could fucking forget the guy at the head of an army, swooping in just in time. Hell, he even remembered watching it and feeling a little like he’d just witnessed his partner transcend to something way fucking more than he ever thought possible. Still, it was that tendency for privacy that made these sorts of encounters uncomfortable for him, though he’d gotten better over the years.

 

(Hank understood why he hated the attention, though. He really did.)

 

“Please, I’m no one special,” he replied, humble as always, and Hank had to bite his tongue so he didn’t call out his bullshit. It wasn't his place to butt in.

 

They chatted animatedly for a few minutes, Hank mostly keeping out of it unless Connor actively attempted to rope him in. He was keenly aware that the group wasn't all that interested in him, which was fair. He was barely a blip on the radar and was basically sitting next to an android celebrity.

 

“You should come meet our friends,” one suggested, which caught Hank’s attention. “If you'd like. Our table is over there.”

 

Connor was a little surprised at the offer. “Ah - would you like to go, Hank?”

 

Hank could not imagine a more awkward situation to put himself in.

 

“You go on ahead. I’ll be fine here,” Hank said, despite very much wanting to say otherwise, especially spotting one of the friends that hadn't come over with the four when he looked over. She was someone he imagined someone like Connor would find attractive without a shadow of a doubt. Not quite the unearthly beauty that Kamski’s Chloe models had – the one Connor had admitted to finding pretty – but she was up there, certainly. He knew his desire to be contrary was being fueled by something that had nothing to do with his safety, as much as he hated to admit it, so he kept his mouth shut. It would be good for him to be around people more like him.

 

He'd just need to keep telling himself that.

 

“If you’re sure,” he said, sounding decidedly _unsure_ about it.

 

“Go,” Hank insisted, already regretting it.

 

* * *

 

That was about three drinks ago.

 

The funny thing was, Hank didn’t think he’d have had a problem with it if it’d just been the group that had come up to them. They had all seemed genuinely just interested in Connor in the way anyone would be interested in someone who clearly had some fame attached to them. But then it turned out his guess had been right and the girl he'd noticed earlier was trouble.

 

It was interesting how universal certain body language was. He had no idea if Connor noticed it, but the way she’d practically been all over him since he'd joined them was a pretty clear fucking sign she was interested. It was something he knew he shouldn't be bothered with, he shouldn't care, but he did. Of fucking course he did. It was impossible not to recognize the jealousy that was stewing in him for what it was, coupled with the knowledge that he was helpless to do anything. It wasn’t his place, he reminded himself over and over. He _wanted_ Connor to find people more like him to get along with. He should be happy and the fact he wasn’t just made him a fucking asshole.

 

God, he’d been fucking stupid that morning. Let himself apparently hope a little too much and there he was now, now just straight up seated at the bar, going back to old, familiar, and fucked up coping mechanisms he didn’t want to return to anymore. He’d been trying so hard to be better than that, but the second shit hit the fan, things got bad all over again.

 

It was the one thing in his control to stop, he knew that. He'd gotten better enough about shit to recognize the too-familiar spiral. It was that realization that led him to making the conscious decision that he had to fucking get some air, knowing full well he was already on the light side of drunk. Resolutely standing up, he spared one last look over before slipping through the small crowd with the last beer he’d bought. He moved with relative ease – he hadn’t had quite enough for his coordination to be fucked to all hell yet – and made his way out into the deck area. A few scattered pairs of people were taking up the area, enjoying the night breeze. He considered just sitting at one of the tables there but noted a conspicuous gate off to the side, barring patrons from exiting out onto the beach.

 

He approached that instead.

 

It wasn't locked so much as shut with a simple mechanism. He flipped it open and stumbled down the few steps he needed to take, not giving a shit if the beach was closed, which it probably _was_ by that time of night. He got midway to the water before he finally felt like he had enough distance and heavily sat down, careful not to spill what he had essentially decided was where he was cutting his alcohol consumption off.

 

He didn’t know how long he was there. Didn’t really even hear anyone coming up to him until Connor was practically on top of him. He didn’t speak at first and Hank guessed he was scanning the whole sad situation.

 

“Hank,” he said, sounding worried. “You’re drunk.”

 

“Barely. But hey, fucking detective of the year right here,” he declared, draining the last of the beer. “What are you doin’ here? Go back inside to your adoring crowd. S’better off with them.”

 

He wasn’t looking, but he knew Connor had to look frustrated at what was a pretty accusatory tone being thrown at him. “Are you mad at me? You specifically told me to go.”

 

His jaw set as he stared forward, not responding. It was like he could feel himself shutting down and honestly, it was for the best. Connor seemed to disagree, switching tactics.

 

“Perhaps we should return to the hotel,” he suggested with an even tone, taking on the voice he took with unruly suspects that needed to be talked down. It was fucking _embarrassing_.

 

“Go fuck yourself, Connor,” he muttered, though the words had no bite at all, no matter how much he tried to muster it. “Just leave me alone, will you? That one in the red dress finds you attractive, go bother her.”

 

It was unfair. He knew he was being unfair. But fuck if he couldn't help it. Hank heard movement and for a second, he wondered if Connor really was leaving - not that he'd blame him. Instead, he saw him carefully settle next to him out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I’m aware she was,” he replied, still calm in the face of him lashing out. He knew Connor had to have noticed it being a jab at what he’d told Hank the day before. “I politely declined when she said as much. I wasn’t interested.”

 

He fucking hated the immediate relief that brought. It made no sense, though, he was sure they were hitting it off from where he’d been sitting. “The fuck? Why’d you say no?”

 

It was a question he didn’t seem to know how to adequately answer. The yellow was cycling rapidly in his LED, though – Hank knew he was agitated.  “Do you _still_ really not know?"

 

“Know what? No, I really don’t know why you fucking bothered to find me,” he said, his voice cracking a little. He wished he drank more, suddenly, because he was just drunk enough that this shit was slipping out but not enough to be unaware of the hot shame that was attached to it. “I’m a fucking anchor on your leg at this point, Connor. You shouldn’t be wasting your time.”

 

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed. “Is that how you really see yourself?”

 

“It doesn’t matter how I see myself, I’m saying this shit for your own good,” he countered, sullen.

 

Connor didn’t speak at first. Hank would soon realize why.

 

“It _sounds_ like you’re trying to decide who I should and shouldn’t spend my time with,” he spoke with a sudden intensity to his tone that made him realize he was actually _pissed_. He didn’t remember the last time Connor was angry. “I’m not a _child_ , Hank. Any obligation I had to stay with you was gone the day I became deviant. I want to be here. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be. If you respect my autonomy, I _expect_ you to understand that.”

 

Hank knew that. He fucking knew. His words were enough to force him to stop acting like a fucking petulant child himself. It was a subject he knew he had to take seriously.

 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, rubbing his face, feeling miserable. He probably looked fucking awful right now. “I do. I do respect it. I’m just a fuck up, Connor, you have to know that by now.”

 

He could see Connor watching him out of the corner of his eye, mouth a thin line. The anger seemed to dissipate from him as well, leaving him with an expression that felt pitying, which only made him feel worse.

 

“No. You are brash, abrasive, and half the time I cannot make heads or tails of what you are thinking,” he agreed. Hank felt his heart sink a little. “But you are _also_ a good and loyal person even when I don’t think you realize you’re being one. The idea of you being an anchor is nothing close to what I actually feel about you.”

 

Hank finally looked over at that and found he was already looking at him with this expression of affection he didn’t know what to do with. No one should fucking look at him like that, but he did. Not knowing how to even respond, he just asked, quietly, “You fucking mean that, don’t you?”

 

Hank expected nothing but a simple confirmation that yes, he really did mean it, which would’ve been more than enough for him right then. What happened instead was, after a long, silent pause, Connor solidly grabbed his shirt, pulled him towards him, and kissed him. It took Hank, whose brain was still addled by the alcohol still in his system, a second to realize what was even fucking happening.

 

For all intents and purposes, it really was a light, chaste kiss. By the time the shock wore off, Connor had already pulled away, though his hand remained where it was bunched in the flimsy fabric of his Hawaiian shirt.

 

“Holy shit,” he exhaled, frozen and staring wide-eyed at him. Blips of red invaded Connor's LED, but he was surprisingly put together looking otherwise. At least one of them fucking were, because Hank sure as hell wasn’t.

 

“I apologize if that was too forward. I am just beginning to think anything else I could've done would've been an inefficient way to make things clear to you,” he said by way of explanation before he even was asked, eyes darting from his mouth to his eyes. The intensity in his gaze was palpable.

 

Hank was too drunk for this. There were so many things he _wanted_ to say but didn’t have the capacity to say them in the way Connor deserved. Fully knowing he had to something to reassure he absolutely wanted this, however, he eventually settled on just fucking closing the gap and kissing him again, palm sliding up to cup his jaw.

 

It was awkward at first, he wouldn’t lie, his partner’s inexperience showed. Seeing the need to lead a little, he guided him to a better positioning. Connor was luckily a quick study, quick to mimic, and it took very little for him to start getting the hang of the basics. It was tempting, too, to be rougher, pushier, more insistent, but it wasn’t the time or the place and Hank really, _really_ did not want to start shit like _that_ when he was still buzzed and unfocused. He felt a little lightheaded when they parted again and he leaned his head against his partner’s.

 

“I’m still drunk,” he murmured in an almost apologetic way.

 

“I know,” Connor replied, running his fingers against his beard.

 

“Fucking coming on to a drunk old guy. Christ,” he huffed out a laugh as _that_ realization sunk in, too. He punctuated the words by shifting his head enough to press a kiss against his fingers, which elicited a _very_ interesting audible hitch in his synthetic breathing.

 

“I took it into account. You are showing no signs of being inebriated past the point this would’ve been inappropriate. I just could not let you keep talking like that about yourself,” he explained, softly. Probably should’ve guessed he was taking all that shit into his consideration. Clearly not wanting to dwell, he added,“I also thought it’d make you more malleable to the idea of returning to the hotel room, which would be a bonus. You can be very stubborn.”

 

Hank shot him a look.

 

He was the picture of innocence. “…I’m _kidding._  Though we _are_ breaking several trespassing laws right now. Are you ready to go? I would hate to have to pay a fine.”

 

“Would be fucking worth it,” he countered, finding it more amusing than he probably ought to.

 

Connor just smiled at that, lingering for a little longer before standing and offering a hand out to him. He took it and let him heft him up with an unnatural ease. He wasn’t quite drunk enough to make the trek to the hotel terribly difficult, though he did heavily use Connor to keep himself balanced the entire way so he didn’t fucking trip over his own feet.

 

They half-stumbled into the room and Hank was keenly aware he was not even going to bother changing out of the shit he wore all day – fuck, he was lucky he thought to kick his sandals off when they got close to the bed. Connor seemed to know not to bother trying because he lightly deposited him onto the bed carefully. He starting to move away and almost instinctively, Hank reached up to grab his arm before he was too far from him. He stilled, peering at him.

 

“Stay,” he requested in a little more than a mumble. Some small part of him felt a flare of worry that whatever was happening would _stop_ once they parted, even for a moment. It was ridiculous, of course, but he was just out of it enough for it for it to make him not want to take chances. Maybe he sensed the distress, maybe he didn’t want to argue to begin with, but Connor relented without any sort of fight once it was clear he wasn’t letting go. Let Hank draw him down to him, pull him close.

 

Connor fit himself against him effortlessly once he was situated, laying against him much like he had the night before in his sleep. Hank’s arm slid around him in the way he’d wanted to desperately that morning, lazily pressing a kiss to his forehead. For as shitty as he felt falling to his usual coping methods earlier, his mind at least was still for the time being. Quiet. Unquestioning.

 

There’d be time for anything beyond that in the morning. For now, he just let himself enjoy it, as if sleeping tangled up with him was the most uncomplicated thing in the world.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO hello everyone, yo girl is back with a new chapter. As always, I wanted to deeply thank you guys for all the lovely comments you left, especially because I may have stressed more than usual to get it right.
> 
> (This is going to be a theme for the rest of the chapters I think, LOL)
> 
> Also a special shout out to the good good person who sent me a piece of art in my DMs. You know who you are, and as I said to the other mystery artist, you really made my day.
> 
> I can't tell you all how lovely this fandom is, even to small fries like me. ;)

All things considered, Hank had woken up with worse hangovers before.

 

At best, the headache that immediately assaulted his senses was a _two_ on his tolerance scale, just annoying enough to make him hate the morning, but not enough to actively feel like death warmed over. It didn’t help there was a solid, comforting weight on top of him, drawing his attention away from the pounding in his head.

 

He’d ended up on his back at some point that night and Connor had just sort of moved with him. His partner had pillowed his head on his chest, arm wrapped lazily across his waist. He vaguely found himself surprised he wasn’t being fucking crushed when he realized, with a smile, that Connor _had_ to have tinkered with whatever was in his head that let him sleep more naturally to make sure he didn’t. Had he done it after he’d fucking blurted out he’d been okay with Connor sleeping against him yesterday morning? Before he went into stasis last night?

 

The gesture wasn’t lost on him regardless. He was still pinned down, of course, which he wasn’t complaining about. Headache aside, he was comfortable and loose and relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt in a while. He couldn’t even fucking remember the last time he’d woken up with someone like this, nevermind someone he cared about. Who cared about _him_.

 

And that was the fucking kicker, wasn’t it? Things felt obvious in hindsight but he still couldn’t quite believe it. He’d given up on this kind of shit a long time ago when his _first_ life was ripped away from him. Didn’t want it, definitely didn’t think he fucking deserved it. He was close to being at his worst again the night before, weak and angry and pitiful.

 

And yet.

 

Fuck, he could still remember how he was looking at him directly after despite the absolute mess he was. No amount of alcohol could remove the sear that left in his mind. To be wanted that much – he really didn’t fucking know what to do with it. Didn’t know what to do with the fact that, faced with it all, he knew he felt the same way. That shit terrified him, if only because he knew just how _important_ he was to him and how _good_ he was at fucking shit up.

 

He exhaled a quiet sigh, forcing that shit right out of his head. He sought out Connor’s hand on instinct, entwining his fingers between his far longer, thinner ones. The touch was grounding in a way he couldn’t adequately describe, now more than ever, and he was fucking grateful for it. He just laid there then, thumb brushing idly against his skin.

 

Connor came to consciousness not long after, the gentle yellow melting into blue at his temple. Could see the rise and fall of his body as whatever regulated his simulated breathing kicked in. Felt him squeeze his hand, too, and Hank just kept holding it instead of his instinctually pulling away. He didn’t need to feel guilty taking it, even if the feeling was there.

 

It would take work to get out of the mindset.

 

There was no panic this morning. Connor woke up, squinting briefly before tilting his head up. He had quite a fucking look about him, disheveled to a point Hank couldn’t remember him seeing him in before. He offered a small, lopsided smile when he realized he was awake and Hank realized he was really, really fucked. Connor probably knew what he was doing to him too, which usually didn’t bother him, but it was a little embarrassing now.

 

“Woke up before you again. You gettin’ lazy on me?” he teased, his voice a little hoarse from sleep.

 

“…I set myself up to go through a longer cycle,” he explained, averting his gaze. Hank realized, much to his amusement, that he was actually embarrassed himself. The fact he didn't give a reason for the longer cycle meant it was a good assumption he'd done it for more personal reasons. “I hope that’s okay.”

 

It was really fucking hard not to laugh. Leave it to him to fucking grab him the night before and get shy now. He pressed a kiss against his knuckles on a whim, warm and affectionate, and was a little startled to see some of the white shining through where his mouth had pressed against his skin.

 

“Shit,” he exhaled, surprised, just staring. Connor immediately pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned.

 

“Sorry,” he apologized, sounding absolutely mortified.

 

When it was clear he was about to pull away _entirely_ , Hank grabbed his wrist, firm enough to keep him there. He didn’t wrench his hand away – and he could have, easily, of course – but he still wasn’t quite looking at Hank.

 

“Hey, it’s alright. Just wasn’t expecting to see that,” he offered, hoping that was what he needed to hear. It wasn’t like it was anything he hadn’t seen before.

 

“It wasn’t on purpose. This is a lot,” Connor admitted. Hank felt worry immediately bloom in him because fuck, he didn’t mean to overstep what he was comfortable with. He seemed to sense his immediate unease and was quick to add, “I don’t mind it at all. I really don’t. I will just need some time to adjust so I don’t react to it quite like that.“

 

 _Oh_. Hank had enough general knowledge about androids to guess why he was apparently fucking – glitching him out? He guessed? There was probably a time shit like that would’ve weirded him out, but now? Now he kind of wanted to keep making it happen because he _could_. Did that happen _everywhere_? Was it just his hands?

 

Fuck, he had to get his mind out of the gutter.

 

“Uh, that’s fine, do your adjustments, but – you don’t need to freak out if it happens. Not around me,” he said instead, because they were both in really uncharted waters and it felt right to be reassuring. Hank had been running on the assumption there was going to be a fucking lot of stuff he was going to just go with.

 

Connor looked over, and though his expression was soft at first, it slowly became more…curious.  “…You’re liked that it happened.”

 

Hank felt heat rise in his cheeks as it was all fucking turned on him. “Don’t fucking scan me during shit like this!”

 

Despite snapping at him, he guessed it was worth it, because apparently the knowledge relaxed him more than his words ever could. He could see the tension melt away from Connor. He guessed it was one thing to hear the acceptance, it was an entirely different thing to have it _reinforced_ by whatever the fuck he saw looking at him.

 

“Apologies, I hadn’t meant to. Your reaction was just quite obvious…” he trailed off. With that smile on his face, Hank was pretty sure he wasn’t fucking sorry at all.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, scratching his cheek. “Fucking laugh it up.”

 

He released his arm then. Connor sat up, covers pooling onto his lap, but didn't move away any further. He managed a slightly more appropriately apologetic look.

 

“I didn’t mean to tease. Noticing your reaction just made me happy, that’s all,” he explained, earnest now. He let the subject drop at that quiet honesty, too, and Hank realized he was already probably worrying about shit that might scare him off. Same fucking fear he had himself, honestly. They were quite a pair. “…How are you feeling?”

 

The fact he was practically ignoring the pounding in his head right now was a good indication he wasn’t as bad as he could be. “Eh. Feel a little queasy and I could use a painkiller or five, but I’ve woken up feeling worse.”

 

Connor hummed thoughtfully before nodding, slipping out of bed and disappearing into the bathroom. He returned with a small glass of water and, unsurprisingly, the medicine he’d just mentioned needing. Hank had sat up himself by then, though he was regretting the choice.

 

Yeah, maybe he was a little worse off than he thought.

 

“Here,” Connor said, handing over what he’d brought out, sitting next to him again after.

 

“Thanks,” he sighed, downing all the pills in one go. He doubted it’d help much, but if it took the edge off, he’d be grateful. The pain felt appropriate though, like a painful reminder why drinking because of his problems was a bad idea. Which reminded him, they had to fucking talk about that, didn’t they? “Look, about last night - I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to come after me because I can’t deal with shit. Every time I think I might be better, I fuck it up again.”

 

Connor watched him, a frown slowly forming. “Setbacks are not failures. I do wish you’d would learn to rely on me as I rely on you, though. Had you come over, I would not have hesitated to leave with you.”

 

That was the problem and he knew it. Rubbing his temples and looking frustrated with himself, he replied, “You shouldn’t have had to. I was being a fucking – a fucking jealous asshole.”

 

He knew he was feeling sorry for himself, he knew that. Knew this shit wasn’t being productive either. But his brain was an asshole and he just kept thinking about it so he just let it out there. Connor didn’t even disagree, which just made him feel worse. He didn’t say anything at all for a moment, actually. He was about to just shift and put distance between them when he finally looked at him, a surprisingly serious expression on his face.

 

“I did not tell you this, but I purposely pointed out that woman’s attraction because I knew it would make you uncomfortable,” he explained, his tone even.

 

Hank raised a surprised brow immediately. Connor’s gaze didn’t waver, even though it was clear he wasn’t proud of what he was saying.

 

“It was small of me. When I realized I was happy to see you had no response to her affections, I realized what was happening,” he continued, unabated. Putting it all out there, apparently.

 

He just stared at him and it dawned on him all at once why he was even bringing this shit up “So you were –“

 

“Jealous. And acted badly because of it,” he supplied, nodding. “I am not perfect, especially with things I was not designed for. You have accepted this about me, I hope?”

 

There was no hesitation whatsoever in answering that. “Of course I have.”

 

Connor smiled, as if he had needed it to be confirmed. Perhaps he had, he didn’t fucking know. “Well, that is exactly how I feel about you.”

 

Hank felt an uncomfortable lump in his throat. It wasn’t like he could argue with the logic, but christ, it was depressing how hard it was to even fathom coming to him. When had it been since he last let himself open up to anyone? It felt so long ago that he wasn’t sure if that person was in him anymore. The thing was, he sure as hell made him want to _try_. “I’ll keep it in mind, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Connor nodded, and he wasn’t just fucking agreeing to agree. He really didn’t know how he deserved someone this patient with him, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to complain. He paused then, still looking serious despite the fact things felt like they’d been settled. Apparently not. “And since we are talking about last night, there’s something else I wanted to say. What happened between us – if you have changed your mind at all, I won’t hold it against you. I realize that being with an android may be too strange for you and that complications could arise both personally and professionally if people knew…”

 

Hank could see his LED blipping red - it was almost impossible to _miss_. For as collected and calm as he was speaking, obviously giving him an opening to back out of this shit, he was doing a _terrible_ job at concealing how worried he actually was that Hank would take him up on backing out. It wasn’t like Hank was going to say whatever the fuck was happening would be a walk in the park, but that feeling wasn’t for any of the bullshit reasons he was listing. that was for damn sure.

 

And none of his _actual_ reasons to doubt were going to stop this shit either. No, he wasn’t going to let himself fuck this chance up, too. He was tired of ruining shit for himself by not even trying.

 

“What’d I tell you, Connor,” he interrupted before he kept going, not wanting him to talk _himself_ out of it at this point. He did stop, looking at him expectantly. His mouth twitched up into a smile when their eyes met. “You think way too much.”

 

Which was about the only warning he got. Pulling him close was an easy, fluid motion and Connor, unsurprisingly, did not fight it. He kissed him like he’d fucking wanted to last night, now that he wasn’t buzzed and honestly in shock. There was an eagerness almost immediately in response from his partner, who _clearly_ retained what bit he’d learned the night before on how to do this. The awkwardness was nearly nonexistent, to the point he even got a small, needy groan out of Hank when he felt his teeth graze his lower lip – something he definitely _didn’t_ teach him to do. There hit a point he clearly did not think his position was _optimal_ because he started to shift without breaking the embrace.

 

That was how he ended up basically in his fucking lap. Situated himself with his knees straddling his thighs and yeah, Hank had to admit, this was so much fucking _better_.

 

Hank poured what he still couldn’t put into words adequately into how he kissed him. He definitely fucking delighted in noting he spotted a bit of white underneath his fingertips as his hand smoothed against his skin, too. Shit, it was practically a _goal_ now to get him to the point there was some small loss of control when he knew how fucking put together he was normally. He could feel Connor’s fingers digging into his back, keeping him right where he fucking was, probably leaving light marks in their wake.

 

To say it was a fucking monumental task to pull away would be an understatement, but the genuine feeling of wanting to do this right by him was enough to slow him down, because he still wasn’t feeling great and he deserved better than that. Connor remained where he was even after, their foreheads rested against each other’s.

 

“Does that clear shit up for you?” Hank asked, his words a low murmur between them.

 

“I believe that was an adequate answer,” he replied, his mouth twitching up into a pleased smile.

 

“…Gotta say though, I’m going to be rusty as shit, though, Con,” he did warn, just so he knew. No sense acting like he wasn’t already worried – Connor had told him to be upfront. “I haven’t – it’s been a fucking _while_. I’m not entirely sure how to do this anymore.”

 

He didn’t even know what the fuck they were now. Should he ask? Did androids approach all of this differently? He didn’t have the ability to interface or any of the shit he recognized as affection between them. And yeah, Connor clearly _liked_ kissing him, but –

 

What _else_?

 

“As I said, this is entirely beyond the scope of what was expected of me too, if it’s any comfort. We can figure it out together,” Connor reassured. Blind leading the fucking blind, apparently. He wasn’t sure if that made the situation better or worse. “I can tell you you are a very good kisser.”

 

Hank huffed out an amused laugh. Well, he guessed that was a good start.

 

“Alright,” he said after putting some consideration into what came next. The answer was that they were on fucking vacation and not staying in the damn hotel room. “Give me a few hours to stop feeling like shit and we’ll do something uh, fuck, just – something nice together, you know?”

 

Outside, where everyone could fucking see them, because that felt important with the worry Connor seemed to hint at. Maybe he would be horrible at everything else, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him think he was at all ashamed about this. Connor seemed to pick up on the intent, brightening at the suggestion. He just looked so fucking _happy_.

 

It was funny. Hank might’ve felt more than a little over his head right then, but the look caused some small feeling of warmth in his chest that was familiar and welcome after being absent for so long. It was hard not to feel like it all would be worth it in the face of that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor enjoy some time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, some finished product comin' at ya.
> 
> I continue to very much enjoy reading all your comments (of which I'll be replying to shortly)!! It still makes me so happy spotting people enjoying this thing I've been chiseling away at. I'll probably be deciding the end chapter cut off soon, but I have to do a bit more finalizing of what I want accomplished, so keep an eye out.
> 
> Thanks again for wandering over to read! You all are lovely. As always, feel free to say hello on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gottageekout%22). :)

By noon, Hank was feeling more himself. It helped that Connor actually let him ordered some greasier food – a pork roll and egg sandwich, which he hadn’t had since he last came to this place, honestly. He just had to sit and listen to Connor talking about how bad it was for him while he ate it, which he’d learned to mostly tune out. _Mostly_.

 

“You want me to feel better, right?” he had attempted to reason, knowing full well what a futile effort it was.

 

Connor looked utterly unimpressed at the argument. “Healthier options would’ve worked just as well.”

 

Which was probably right, but he enjoyed his food anyway, because when would he be able to eat this shit again? Maybe sooner than if he’d been alone still, but vacations still would come few and far between with the kind of shit they did. Eating gave him time to think about what he actually wanted to do after, too, because, well –

 

The planned still hadn’t fully formed itself yet. Hanging out with Connor generally was the easiest thing in the world because there was _very_ few things he didn’t enthusiastically throw himself into, but there was a sudden weight to it all that made everything different. The fact that his inability to eat or drink basically crossed off all forms of the easiest things he’d consider appropriate for what this was.

 

Which was a date.

 

He hadn’t put the word to it when he suggested it, but yeah, it was absolutely a fucking date. He wouldn’t have been freaking out about it right now if it wasn’t. While Connor was getting ready, he pulled out his barely used phone to look up ideas and unsurprisingly, it went poorly. His phone was a piece of shit and it cheerfully reminded him of that as it took forever to even get to one idea.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

He hadn’t even heard him come out of the bathroom. Hank didn’t look up, only because he had some small paranoia that Connor would be able to read him more than he probably already was.

 

“This thing fucking sucks,” he said simply, because it was perfectly normal and reasonable to be irritated at his phone. It was practically a daily event at this point. Better he think that than the fact it was actually over something involving him.

 

Not that he thought Connor would react terribly to him. Hell, he technically knew what he’d say. That it didn’t fucking matter. Probably something sappy about just liking being with him, which, while _true_ , it wasn’t the point. He was making an effort because that was how this shit _worked_ , he wasn’t _that_ out of practice to know that. That he’d given himself absolutely no wiggle room to plan was a pain in the ass, but he’d make this work.

 

Even took the time to make himself look more presentable than normal earlier. Pulled his hair back, picked probably the nicest shit he had in his bags - which wasn’t saying much, sure, but he was working with what he had.

 

“Are you finally going to let me order you a new one?” Connor inquired with an amused lift of his eyebrow, apparently completely buying it. “They are phasing out security updates on it within the next few months.”

 

Hank shook his head, pocketing the thing. “I don’t use it enough to give a shit. Especially since it’s easier to ask you something when I need it.”

 

Connor sighed, though his expression was fond. “What was it that you were trying to do? I can help you now, if you want.”

 

Shit.

 

“Nah, it’s nothing,” he said, though Connor’s expression shifted in a way he had a feeling he knew he was lying. Still, he didn’t call it out, which was as good as being in the clear if you asked him. “I was thinking of going to the boardwalk for a while. You good with that?”

 

It was a hub of activity, if it was how Hank remembered it. He doubted things changed that much beyond things being upgraded. Maybe he’d get ideas there as they walked. If anything, at the very least, he very much knew there would be a lot for Connor to see. Worst case scenario he’d still be fucked and without any ideas, but hell, at least they’d have some fun.

 

“I was curious about it when you mentioned it yesterday,” he admitted, clearly approving. “Are you feeling up for it?”

 

“Always fucking fussing,” he snorted, getting up and stretching his arms wide over his head. The pounding had lessened to a dulled pain. He’d gone to work and on assignments feeling worse and still managed to do a halfway decent job. This? This was nothing. He grabbed his sunglasses and popped them on before heading over, all ready to go.

 

But Connor was still just watching him, and he realized he _knew_ that look he had on his face. Had been seeing it again and again recently. “…Is something wrong?”

 

“Oh. No,” he shook his head, a lopsided smile lifting onto his face. He lifted his hand, lightly brushing back the loose strands that framed his face. “I was just thinking you looked good.”

 

Hank didn’t necessarily shy away from the touch, but he felt himself flush immediately at the unexpected attention. Connor was watching him with the same intent look and he realized, distantly, that he had to be testing boundaries – what he was okay with and what he wasn’t. Had to be, with how he was clearly trying to gauge his reaction.

 

Much as it left him fumbling on how to respond (he wasn’t _exactly_ the kind of person that drew in someone like Connor), he liked it. Still was fucking baffled by what he apparently felt about him, after spending more years than he’d like to admit assuming he’d never be getting more than a stray one-night stand, but it was extremely hard to deny what was right there when it was staring him in the face.

 

“In comparison to usual,” he joked with a gentle sort of smirk. Connor opened his mouth to protest immediately and he huffed out a laugh. “Easy, I know what you meant. But this is a fucking date, so I had to do something.”

 

The word usage was specific, because it had finally hit him what was happening. Hank was fucking _terrible_ at this and it was one of the few things he wasn’t uncomfortable being open about. Connor, perhaps feeling the need to not stick out like a sore fucking thumb for being this inexperienced in all of this shit, wasn’t. He was trying to figure it out all on his own.

 

So he’d been testing waters recently, pushing just a little bit and seeing what happened. Something he was apparently _still_ doing despite everything and it made him feel like shit that he was still walking on eggshells with him. Hank was well aware he was a fortress at the worst of times, too shattered for too long to not keep everything close to his chest. It had to be difficult for Connor to deal with when he was just trying to keep up in general. He could’ve pointed it out and told Connor to just be upfront when he couldn’t get a read on him, but it felt like an asshole move when he was putting in so much effort.

 

Being upfront _himself_ seemed a better compromise, especially after all Connor had done for him. Just fucking putting it out there, bluntly, no matter how awkward it was. Being clear so he didn’t have to parse and analyze to be sure he didn’t misunderstand or doubt. He’d used the word _nice_ earlier and now he defined it in the clearest way he could.

 

Granted, it was potentially going to be a _shitty_ date, but it was a date nonetheless. And he was going to potentially be shitty about being more open, but he had to fucking try. He’d never wanted something to work so much in his entire life.

 

He punctuated the sentiment by slipping closer and pressing a soft, brief kiss against his mouth. By then, Connor’s hand had come to rest on his cheek, and it stayed there even when it was over. Hank glanced over just in time to see his LED had tiny blips of yellow in it.

 

“Should I –“ he began, than paused, frowning at himself. Hank waited for him to sort out whatever was going on in his head. “Should I do something special as well? I’ve never -”

 

“You fucking roll out of bed looking perfect, you’re fine,” he reassured, because that was a compliment he could very easily give, at least. “Let me do the heavy lifting today, huh? I want you to have a good time, that’s all. And it’ll be on me if you don’t.”

 

“Anything we do together will be enjoyable,” he reassured.

 

He rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh. Fucking sap, just as he predicted.

 

* * *

 

The boardwalk was brimming with people by the time they got to it. To say Connor was instantly charmed was an understatement, especially when he saw the rows and rows of everything from games to gift shops. He could see so many fucking gift shops in his future already, honestly, because there was nothing quite like the tourist stuff that was sold in places like this.

 

Hank always wondered, any time he came here, if things would be radically different. With the rapid progression of technology, it felt like it’d be easy to lose what he remembered to be this place years ago. It was almost comforting to see it was a lot like he’d remembered not only when he’d brought Cole, but even when he was a much younger person. A mix of old and new.

 

Didn’t take long for them to spot something that was very, very old, too.

 

Connor had noticed the oddly off-colored portions of the boardwalk first. He’d asked and Hank dodged the question, knowing it was one of those things you just had to _see_. Or hear, for that matter, because not long after he asked about it and while they had paused at a shop to look at the glaringly terrible looking shirts on the racks.

 

He was actually a little startled at first, watching what looked like a small train of cars lumbering slowly down the boardwalk. They’d upgraded it enough – sleek when it used to be blocky and uncomfortable – but some things apparently hadn’t changed.

 

“God, they still didn’t fucking update the voice?” Hank realized with a wince, the noise bringing him fucking back, he’d say that much. The voice, a tinny, female one, warned over and over: _watch the tram car, please, watch the tram car please -_

 

“Is there supposed to be a train in the middle of the road?” Connor asked, standing beside him and gawking.

 

“There’s two of them, actually. One goes up, the other goes down the boardwalk,” he explained. “You hop on whenever, get off whenever.”

 

It took all of two seconds for Connor to look at him sharply. “Can we -?”

 

“And skip walking? Fuck yeah,” he grinned, already fucking heading over. The tram glided slowly in front of them, and Hank waited for the first empty cart to step on. Connor followed him in one smooth motion, sitting beside him. Hank paid for the ride and relaxed back into the soft cushions.

 

“You should’ve seen these when I was younger the couple of times we actually made the trip. Ugly as hell and uncomfortable. I’m good with this upgrade,” he said, gazing out toward the lines and lines of small stores and booths they were passing. He spotted a moving advertisement for fireworks on the beach later that night and remembered they did shows like that a lot during the summer.

 

That was an idea. A very good one. He mentally filed it away for later.

 

They rode the thing long enough for Connor to get his fill of it. They hopped off at a particularly busy stretch of the boardwalk, flashing lights and games tempting people over with promises of prizes that people could easily just buy if they really wanted it. Hank could spot a lot of old favorites – sometimes the best stuff was worth keeping around, apparently, since none of them were hurting for customers.

 

All the games were probably still rigged though, a thought that crossed his mind exactly as Connor was drawn to one nearby. Brightly decorated with various prizes hung on the sides of the booth enticingly. Interestingly enough, a big screen lined the back of the stall, which he guessed probably had something to do with the guns Connor was currently stepping up in front of.

 

“Is it alright for me to play?” he asked the man politely. Hank caught his meaning quickly, as did the guy, who paused in his yelling for customers to look him over and seemed to zero in on Connor’s LED. He slowly smiled and it took Hank a moment to realize why.

 

The gun law. It was still the one thing that had stuck around from how shit used to be done in some form – people like Connor it was fine, but the general android public? Not so much. He probably didn’t think Connor had ever shot a gun before or even held one. Probably considered androids easy marks. There was some small satisfaction knowing how hilarious this guy’s face was going to be in a few seconds.

 

“Of course, of course, all are welcome,” he announced in a booming sort of voice, not just talking to Connor but to everyone in the area. They paid him little mind. To Connor, he added, “I just need you to press here to accept your fee and the game will be unlocked. Get the super rare colored target and win anything you see on the wall here.”

 

Hank just crossed his arms, watching. Waiting.

 

“Would you like to play, Hank?” he offered, his hand hovering over what he was being instructed to press to pay.

 

“Oh, no, I’ll just be over here enjoying this,” he said. The guy running the booth gave him an odd look and he smiled pleasantly. “Good luck, Connor.”

 

The screen came to life once the payment went through and a realistic looking forest scene popped onto the 3D screen. Weird choice, he thought, but then he saw the targets begin sticking out of various points on the screen, some more obscured than others by the simulated leaves. Connor missed the first target – which Hank silently called, because his educated guess had been the way this guy cheated people was making sure the accuracy was just off enough to not win. Turned out he was entirely right.

 

Connor, noticing it immediately, just needed to adjust. Which he did, faster than Hank ever could. After that, he could practically hit the targets with his eyes closed. As the screen congratulated him for hitting the rarest target, Hank ventured a glance at the booth’s owner, who was staring at him slack-jawed.

 

“I believe the calibrations on your game is a bit off,” Connor explained helpfully, placing the gun back in its holster. “You might want to check that.”

 

He stared between the two of them before saying, “You must have cheated. Did you pull some kind of android trick?”

 

Hank's eyes narrowed. He had a feeling that was coming, too, once he saw the stink the guy was kicking up.

 

“No, I didn’t turn on any of the functions that could’ve possibly aided me,” Connor replied, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

 

Hank stepped in at that point, bristling at the fucking nerve of the guy.

 

“I got this,” he said to Connor, making sure to speak a little louder for people to overhear. “You said androids were welcome to play and he did exactly that. So either you actually _do_ have problems with their business or you’re implying there’s no way he should’ve won without cheating. Which is it? Because I think both are a little damning for you right now.”

 

He blanched at that, glaring at him but essentially realizing he had no leg to stand on. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see people milling about, watching the commotion. _Good_.

 

“Any prize from the wall, correct?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

 

The man deflated a little, sighing. “Yes, yes.”

 

Which was how Connor ended up with a stuffed dog. Not even a fucking big one, when he could’ve had anything he wanted. But that was him, someone who didn’t need the fancy shit, and Hank knew the point was he got what he wanted.

 

That was enough.

 

(Sort of wished he’d cleaned house but Hank reminded himself that was just him being petty.)

 

“What a fucking con artist,” he complained instead as they walked. Connor glanced over at him, looking a little troubled.

 

“Was it cheating?” he asked, frowning. Hank could’ve just said no, but he knew that wouldn’t satisfy him.

 

“Did you really not use that reconstruction shit you do?” he asked instead, raising a brow.

 

“No, of course not.” He seemed personally affronted at the mere suggestion.

 

“Then no, no more than someone who generally knows how to shoot well,” he shrugged. “Probably could’ve done halfway decently too if you told me how off it was. Like I said, the guy was an asshole. He’s lucky I didn’t make a bigger scene.”

 

He could see the small uptick of a smile on his face. “I appreciate what you did do. You really didn’t have to, I just thought it looked fun.”

 

Like Hank was going to keep his mouth shut when some con artist tried to blame Connor for his shitty game. He’d spoken up for lesser reasons. _“I’d_ have been the fucking asshole, then.”

 

Connor didn’t _need_ him to stand up for him, never had, and he was sure he would’ve walked him through what an asshole he was with a pleasant smile. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t step in, though, especially when it came to someone attempting to use his differences as a fucking scapegoat to get out of what he fairly earned.

 

The shit still happened way more than it ought to and that pissed him off too.

 

He felt Connor take his hand into his, slipping his fingers between his. Pulled him right out of his own head, which he imagined had been the entire point of doing it. He had to be noticing some sign of him being agitated, it was practically impossible to hide that shit from him. What he did do that surprised him, however, was he leaned in a little.

 

“I scanned him during the entire interaction. He was terrified of you,” Connor informed him, conspiratorially.

 

“Good. He should’ve been,” he said, shooting him a quick grin. “Some people need to be put in their fucking place sometimes.”

 

Maybe next time he’ll think twice about whether or not it was a great idea to try to con people. At the very least, he certainly knew his outburst had lost him a couple of customers. A little victory, but one nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

The fireworks ended up being the thing that felt best to cap the evening. After a day of exploring the lengths of the boardwalk and pretty much stopping at every fucking major attraction – the Pier alone, with all its rides and games, had taken a chunk of their time – Hank was good to sit his ass in the sand for a while and just watch shit happen.

 

So, for the second time in two nights, they were on the beach together at night.

 

Unlike the first time, they were allowed to be there.

 

There was a decent crowd by the time they meandered over. It was easy enough to find a spot to sit on the outskirts of the gathering of people and plopped down together, not even giving a shit they had nothing to sit on. There’d come a time when Hank would eventually preplan doing shit like this, but in his defense, the events of the last twenty-four hours were something he’d have never thought would ever come to pass.

 

Yet here they were. Connor had shifted so he was leaning against his side, a solid, comforting weight. The weather had cooled considerably, enough that having him in such close proximity wasn’t even an issue - though honestly, he wouldn’t have said a damn thing had it been. General, quiet displays of public affection had never been his thing, but something was different now.

 

He just didn’t _care_ anymore. Maybe he was finally at that age where he hit the point that didn’t give a shit, maybe it was just Connor. Whatever it was, if anyone were throwing glancing their ways – and it didn’t seem so, honestly, what they were doing wasn’t even necessarily unheard of anymore – he didn’t notice when he might have once.

 

It wasn’t long after they settled in that the fireworks started bursting above them, painting the night’s sky with colors. Even for a non-weekend show – they saved the best for their biggest crowds – it was better than even he had remembered it. He ventured a look at Connor to see his eyes glued to the sky, looking equal parts awed and content.

 

Without allowing himself a chance to second guess, he eased his arm around behind him, hand coming to rest just above his hip. He could see Connor glance sharply at him, surprised, He just smiled at him briefly and Connor, relaxing, smiled back. Could feel him lean against him even more as they went back to watching the bursts of light above them together.

 

It was _nice_. Mission accomplished, he supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to your media corner, here I am again with some links to supplement.
> 
> For anyone who has never had the pleasure of going to Wildwood, [these tram cars](http://nullrefer.com/?https://youtu.be/wuzUMRXWqRY) exist and I refuse to believe they'd ever update that stupid voice.
> 
> Also, [pork roll and egg sandwiches](https://i.imgur.com/HCb3OWj.jpg) are the best hangover sandwiches ~~even if it's actually called taylor ham and Southern NJ people are always wrong~~.
> 
> If I educated at least one person about these two facts, I call this entire fic a win.


	11. [nsfw]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the two figure things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So please see the [nsfw] (points up) indication and be aware, ahem.
> 
> I debated whether or not to bump this rating up but I'm not entirely sure it's needed? Ahah, regardless, you've been warned. 
> 
> Still pretty blown away at the response. I'll be getting to replying to all the last chapter's stuff soon - apologies for the delay of literally everything ever, but I've been battling a summer sinus infection for the last half of the week that's still hanging on stubbornly and making it hard to be coherent.
> 
> As always, you can find me hanging out in twitter jericho [here](http://twitter.com/gottageekout).

“I think I need to officially cut you off from souvenirs.”

 

Hank had just sort of been watching him from bed as he double checked the absolute haul he’d brought back for the better part of fifteen minutes. Most of it were small things, sure, but he was starting to think that they were going to be bringing enough shit back to give to the whole precinct. Connor, of course, entirely ignored him.

 

“Do you think I should give this to Detective Reed?” he asked, holding up what had to be the ugliest fucking cat toy he’d seen. He’d gotten it out of one of the claw machines, if he’d remembered right – one of the games he’d been especially good at. Hank had suggested to just toss it away when he saw it, but he was seeing now why Connor kept it.

 

“Only if you give it to him while I’m there,” he replied, lifting an amused brow.

 

“Noted,” he hummed, putting it into the bag of things carefully. “I think I should be good at this point, ban or not.”

 

“A miracle,” he replied, dryly.

 

Connor made a face but said nothing, putting the bag aside. He meandered over then and there wasn’t even a pause anymore as he joined him. Didn’t pause before kissing him either, slow and languid, and shit, he was getting too good at this shit already. Hank’s hand came to rest low on his waist as Connor fitted easily against him.

 

When they parted, his partner regarded him with a half-lidded look that he wasn’t expecting to see. He held the gaze, searching his face, just fucking _wondering_. Connor didn’t waver, not for a moment, and it emboldened him. He dipped his head, pressing his mouth down the side of his neck. Connor exhaled a surprised sound and Hank could feel his hand clutch around his forearm.

 

“Have a good time today?” he asked evenly, continuing to trail down his neck in a slow, methodical sort of way. Connor didn’t answer at first, though Hank did notice him lifting his chin and inclining his head to the side, giving him more access.

 

“Yes,” he murmured, though in a clipped, strained tone. He nuzzled the gentle slope between his neck and shoulder, his beard likely scratchy feeling against his skin. Connor exhaled a shuddery sounding noise and the feeling that shot through Hank was enough to make him sure they were treading into territory he knew he needed to make sure Connor wanted. It seemed like it, but -

 

He pressed another light kiss on the spot before lifting his head to look at him. Connor’s expression was unreadable, though he still hadn’t released the grip on his arm.

 

“You good with this?” Hank asked, not wanting to push him if he didn’t want to continue.

 

Connor paused long enough that Hank wondered if he’d just fucked up. When he saw him look away before he spoke, the worry grew. “…I am. Of course I am. I just don’t know if you will be.”

 

He’d been ready for a lot of answers, but not _that_ one. The response made absolutely no sense, especially considering he’d practically just started this shit. Hank’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What?”

 

Connor still wasn’t looking at him. Made him fucking nervous. “I told you before, Hank, I wasn’t built for this function at all.”

 

It clicked almost immediately what Connor was trying to say. Hank supposed he ought to be glad CyberLife hadn’t considered him having a dick a necessary component for when he’d been an obedient machine, because who the hell knew what they would’ve expected him to do? It made shit complicated for him now, though, he could see that, and it fucking sucked he him.

 

“I should have told you sooner,” Connor continued without letting him speak, just sounding quietly mournful now. “I just wanted to enjoy this, even if it’s only for a little while. I’d understand if it’s not enough.“

 

 _If I’m not enough_ was what his words said, and fuck that. Fuck that shit right there.

 

“You’re right, you should’ve told me. You wouldn’t have had to sit there worrying all this time if you had,” he sighed, gently nudging him until he wasn’t looking away anymore. He had to see he meant this. “You think I give a shit? I don’t. We’ll work around it. You’re fucking worth the effort.”

 

He surprised himself how much he honestly meant it. But this – whatever this was between them – it’d been simmering for ages, and now that he had it, he could fully see the scope in which his time with him made him _happy_. Happy even before they started any of _this_ and certainly happy now. And if that didn’t include this aspect of a relationship, fuck it. Connor just stared at him for a long moment before surging forward, kissing him hard. Nearly fucking knocked the breath out of him.

 

He didn’t mind. Not one bit.

 

“I _may_ have come up with a few ideas,” he murmured against his mouth, expression eager as his hands cupping his jawline. His gaze flicked up to meet his and Hank was distantly surprised at the intensity of his stare. He’d fucking uncorked something, alright. “If you want to try.”

 

Hank certainly wasn’t _against_ it, but something about it automatically made him cautious. That something was that this was fucking _Connor_ and he knew his partner too damn well at this point.

 

“What…kind of ideas?” he asked.

 

“I can turn my sensitivity all the way up. In theory, with enough sensory input –“ he trailed off. Hank filled in the dots, sitting up immediately.

 

“Are you fucking asking me to _overload_ you?” he asked, instantly on edge. He knew Connor tended to be reckless, but this was bad, even for him. They weren’t even in a place they knew well – if shit happened, he’d have to _hope_ whatever place took in androids in the state could figure out how to fix him. Connor had sat up too by then, frowning a little in his direction.

 

“In a _sense_ , but I’ve made preparations to ensure that my systems will be able to handle it,” he countered, still speaking way too calmly about asking him to purposely _fry_ him. The suggestion was enough that it took him a second to realize something else he’d just inferred.

 

“Shit, have you’ve been fucking _planning_ this?” he asked as it dawned on him. Connor was quiet at that, glancing away.

 

“I’ve wanted this for a long time, Hank,” he admitted, voice going soft. It wasn’t fucking fair, really, how easy it was for Connor to sway him, because he knew he wasn’t just saying that. He sighed at length, searching his face.

 

“How likely are we looking at something going wrong?” he asked, clearly taking the suggestion more seriously now.

 

“Five percent, at most,” he supplied, ready with the information in a way Hank had a feeling he’d known he was going to be asked about it. “And the worst-case scenario my systems would compensate and there’d be no need for actions on your part. I’ve been thorough, I promise.”

 

Hank knew Connor wouldn’t bullshit him on that. If there was an actual danger, he’d need to actually know about it, and Connor knew that. He might’ve been _reckless_ , but he wasn’t stupid. Swallowing, he nodded, unable to help but find himself quietly intrigued on what they were about to do.

 

It’d be a lie, too, to say he hadn’t let his mind wander to the what ifs of this situation long before this vacation. He wanted this too.

 

“Come here,” he beckoned, guiding him into his lap. The two shared a look and then a smile.

 

“Should I -?” Connor asked, trailing off.

 

“Not yet,” he murmured with a small shake of his head.

 

Some part of him knew the potential for it ending the night quickly was high, even if it all went exactly as Connor planned. This was his first time doing this shit and he remembered the day before – _this is a lot_ , he’d told him – so he could only imagine how he was going to be with everything dialed up. He wasn’t going to act like he thought he could getting him off without cranking shit up, but he wanted to ease him into it.

 

Maybe it’d lessen the chance he’d fucking short circuit himself, who knew?

 

For all he was worrying about him, though, he remarkably forgot that he probably should be worried about himself, too. The last time he’d done something that wasn’t just a quick fuck was longer than he would admit to, and Connor, well –

 

It was a little like signing up to be a new and exciting _thing_ for him to figure out. And figuring out in this case was apparently the shit that he reacted to, which was, embarrassingly, _a lot_. Connor was a tactile as hell person and Hank didn’t think he realized it until then just how much he’d been missed the simple act of touch – both his hands and, eventually, his mouth too. Had him fucking reacting to him before he knew it.

 

Connor seemed fucking pleased with himself any time he groaned his name.

 

The unmistakable tenting of his sweatpants was there before he even fucking thought he would be. When Connor seemed satisfied with what he’d been doing so far, his fingers eventually came to rest on his waistband, curling around it. To his credit, he asked first, waiting until Hank nodded to proceed, helped him even get the shit off. He couldn’t quite look after that, though he could practically feel Connor staring.

 

It probably was a bad plan, not watching him. Only because when he inevitably took him in his hand, he had no real warning. His hips jumped up into the touch almost immediately, much to his embarrassment.

 

“Easy,” he huffed in a gruff voice, fingertips curling into the bedsheets. His attention was right back on him and what he was doing.

 

He was a mess already, there was no denying it. Despite it only essentially being foreplay, he was fully hard by then, slick with what had already leaked out of him. Connor seemed a little startled at his response, long fingers gripping him and otherwise frozen around him.

 

It was driving him crazy. 

 

It didn’t take much to sit up. He caught his mouth with his, kissing him deeply as he covered Connor’s hand with his own. He was too far beyond giving step-by-step instructions with any sort of clarity at this point.

 

“Like this,” he panted out, guiding him through the motion instead. He couldn’t let this fucking go on too long, much as he ached for the release because he didn’t want to get off without him, but it was clearly an experience Connor wanted to have.

 

And what a fucking experience it was. Much like everything he did, it didn’t take much for him to learn and adapt. He had been expecting to need to remind Connor not to go too fast, but that apparently wasn’t anything he needed to be concerned about. No, instead, once he got the hang of what Hank liked, he seemed to push him just to the edge before slowing again.

 

“You’re fucking – scanning me, aren’t you,” he croaked out in realization as it hit him what was happening. Connor’s mouth curved into a small, impish smile.

 

He was clearly loving every fucking minute of it. Hank knew Connor thoroughly enjoyed doing a good job and apparently this was no different. He had to stop him a hell of a lot earlier than he expected he would have to.  Connor looked confused as he guided his hand away.

 

“Not gonna last long at this point,” he huffed out, probably fucking looked wrecked at this point. His sweat-drenched hair falling into his eyes.

 

“That was the objective,” Connor quipped, eyebrow raising. He was way too fucking put together for what they’d been doing. “I’d like to continue. It was very enjoyable watching your reaction.”

 

Fucking torturing him was more like it. Not that he hadn’t been enjoying every second of it, which his current condition could attest to.

 

“This shit’s supposed to be about you, Con –“ he pointed out, trying his fucking best to not just think with his dick right then.

 

“As I said,” he began, wrapping a hand around him, eyes trained on his. His breath hitched in surprise, hips twitching up into his palm. Connor smiled seeing his reaction, the expression downright predatory. “I’ve been enjoying this.”

 

He relented. Of fucking course he did. Ended up making a fucking mess between them a few minutes later, choking out Connor’s name, face buried against his neck as he was rocked by the intensity of it. Took him a little while to feel like he wasn’t still reeling from it. Connor held him close the entire time and it was as nice as the actual act itself.

 

Fuck, it really had been a long time.

 

After Hank had a little bit to recover and they cleaned up some, they were settled together again. He knew there was still Connor to focus on. Hell of a fucking act to follow, too.

 

“You want to try your thing still?” he asked, making sure there was no second thoughts he didn’t know about.

 

Apparently he was worrying for no reason. Connor didn’t even hesitate as he replied with a simple, “Please.”

 

It didn’t take much to get him on his back, which Hank decided had to be the safest way to do this shit. That way, if something happened, Connor wouldn’t just collapse on top of him with his full weight or any number of worst case scenarios he could come up with. Besides, seeing him underneath him was certainly an added bonus.

 

“I can tell you the areas that should be especially sensitive,” he offered. There was a nervous energy coming off of him, anxious but clearly wanting.

 

“Half the fun is finding shit like that,” he replied with his own smirk and he swore if Connor could blush, he would have with the kind of look he shot him in response. There was one thing, though, that he knew needed addressing. “You want to keep your pants on, or -?”

 

He knew a thing or five about not feeling comfortable about body shit. He sure as hell felt it even briefly before Connor made it very clear he was unabashedly into him. The thing was, he could already guess he’d be able to do this without ever peeling his boxers off, so it felt appropriate to have the offer there.

 

Connor seemed unsure at first before glancing away and nodding silently, biting his bottom lip. Fucking hurt to see, really, that he was that concerned about how he’d react. So he didn’t do it at all at first, surprised him by slowing shit down by a lot. It was unsurprisingly so much easy showing affection through touch instead of words, even if it’d been so fucking long since he’d done anything remotely like this with someone. Connor responded, too, arching into his touch, meeting his mouth halfway every time they kissed.

 

And all the while, he kept an eye on his LED. Saw it eventually relaxed into its smooth, calm blue.

 

When he finally hooked his fingers and slipped off his remaining clothing, he seemed as okay with it as he was going to be. Connor hesitated only briefly before he canted his hips up enough for him to help him get it off.

 

He stared, but not because of why Connor had been concerned. It was the first time he’d just allowed himself to really just look at him. For someone who he’d seen practically vault off roofs, he really looked (and certainly felt) softer than he expected – lean but not overly muscular. Sort of like a runner’s body, he supposed, and the choice probably stemmed from some study done on what body type would be best for integration.

 

He’d made fun of him once for his looks. Truth was – even then, when he’d made the joke – yeah, he was attractive. It was undeniable in his stupid CyberLife get up and it was absolutely undeniable now with him splayed under him.

 

“Hank,” Connor murmured, pulling him out of his reverence. He looked nervous again, unsure. “If you’ve changed your mind –“

 

Yeah, that wasn’t it at all.

 

“Christ, you’re fucking perfect,” he breathed out, vocalizing what’d been in his head.

 

Connor’s LED spun yellow for a whole other reason. Hank could see a hesitant, shy, but truly genuine smile lift on his face. Reached up to pull him down on top of him, resuming where they’d left off.

 

But he knew this wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

 

“Twenty percent above your usual. That’s it,” Hank requested, because he didn’t he didn’t want him knocking himself on his ass immediately.

 

Connor didn’t need to tell him when he did it. One second his mouth had been trailing along his skin, the next he was starting to see white again - where his mouth pressed, where his hand rested against his chest.

 

“Oh,” he heard Connor warble, his voice sounding no quite right. Staticy, like there was interference. Hank lifted his head to look at him.

 

“You good?” he asked, though with the look on his face, he knew the answer already.

 

“It’s –“ Connor began, then faltered, mind seemingly blanking for a moment as Hank slid his hand against his chest just to watch the skin briefly disappear under his palm. Quite a fucking trick.

 

“A lot,” Hank supplied, and for as insane as it all fucking was, he was grinning.

 

Connor nodded sharply and Hank was quietly glad he had convinced him to start slow. Though the synthetic skin was still up, anywhere he touched simply dissolved away to reveal the cooler, slicker body it was always hiding. He seemed flustered by it at first until, presumably, he realized Hank wasn’t batting a fucking eyelash at it.

 

It was different, sure, but everything was different with him, and at this point, it was clear to him that it was never different in a bad way. The vague feeling of smugness that had hit him the day before when he was the reason Connor lost some momentary control was back again and in full force. Not just because he liked it – and he did, because fuck, the sight of him writhing underneath him, the feeling of his initially tentative grasp on his hair tightening was undeniably doing a whole lot a shit to him – but because he knew Connor wanted it too. Wanted it and apparently fucking found a workaround on his own, no less. What they were doing felt like a direct fuck you to the assholes who made him, which Hank could _very much_ appreciate, considering his own tendency to buck authority.

 

Being _deviant_ was a damn good look for him, even two years later.

 

It wasn’t even entirely different from any other foreplay he’d ever done in his life, except the foreplay was apparently fucking everything in this case. He’d been right, as it turned out, about Connor not being able to take much of this, even at the reduced level he put himself at. Before long he was arching up into his touch, gasping out his name in ways that sent liquid fire through him too, his voice sounding more and more off. His body felt like it was warming up rapidly too – it made sense, Hank thought distantly, considering what he was trying to accomplish with this. The actual build-up was the same, though, the increasingly erratic nature of his movements familiar, and he absolutely fucking knew when he hit his peak.

 

He just went fucking rigid against him, a strangled, garbled moan of his name coming out of him in entirely inhuman, his LED a deep, crimson red. Hank rode it out with him or at the very least remained present, even if he had no idea if Connor even knew he was there. When he finally seemed to relax, he all but collapsed against the bed.

 

There was no rise and fall of his chest. Hank frantically had to glance to make sure his LED was on at all – it was yellow now, much to his absolute relief – but he still wasn’t moving. Wasn’t responding.

 

“Connor,” he called out, cupping his face in his hands. He was practically patchwork at that point, spots of his synthetic skin not filling in like it had been before. It just made him worry more. “Connor!”

 

Something just seemed to just switch on with him then, not unlike the way Hank had noticed him 'waking' in the morning. His eyes slid open slowly, unfocused at first before sharpening and looking up at Hank. The corner of his mouth twitched just barely upwards.

 

“That was unexpected,” he managed out, his voice still not sounding quite right. Better than the near garbled mess of earlier, but off. He blinked, staring off at something Hank couldn’t see. He bet the fucker was seeing a bunch of errors.

 

“Fuck,” he breathed out, relief smacking him like a freight train. He let go of his face and just let his own forehead drop to rest on his chest. He could still hear his heartbeat thrumming hard in his ears. “You scared the shit out of me.”

 

“I apologize,” he said and sounded like he meant it. “It seems I didn’t take certain things into account. That was...incredible, however.”

 

Despite everything, he let out a strained laugh. Lifted his head to look at him. "It _better_ have been. Christ, I was already trying to figure out how to explain how I _broke_ you.”

 

A beat. Connor seemed alright besides looking a little drowsy with an expression akin to satisfaction that was hard to miss, but he had to make sure.

 

“Nothing happening I need to worry about?” he prompted, watching his face. Connor shook his head.

 

“I just need a recovery period. No explanation necessary, though it’d have been quite a story,” he chuckled weakly, apparently okay enough to be a fucking _smart ass_. He still hadn’t entirely reactivated his skin, the splotches of white dotting his body still there. He wasn’t sure if he just didn’t care or he couldn’t do anything about it at the moment. “I saved all the data. It won’t be as much of a problem next time.”

 

He lifted an eyebrow. “Next time?”

 

Connor just smiled, pulling him down with a surprising bit of strength. Probably wasn’t really paying attention to _that_ as much either. Took Hank a moment for him to get settled comfortably next to him, arm slung around his lanky frame. He was well aware he probably was not going to be moving for a while. Maybe longer than usual, with the kind of recovery Connor was talking about.

 

Shit, with the adrenaline wearing off, exhaustion was very much hitting him too.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Designations are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain is a little dead from a very long day that also coincided with one of the hottest days NJ has seen this summer (you would think the person writing the beach fic would love summer but this heat can go right to hell LOL) and I feel like I'm going to read this again tomorrow with fresh eyes just to make sure I don't need to edit anymore, but it's as good as it's gonna get tonight (which I hope is pretty good) right now and I want to release it into the wild.
> 
> Fly, my pretty.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to everyone reading and commenting. You guys honestly bring the biggest smile to my face any time I see the support I'm getting. Looking to be one or two chapters after this, so no official count, but we're in the home stretch. Eeey.
> 
> Find me on twitter Jericho, where I am also [@gottageekout](https://twitter.com/gottageekout%22) (I am very creative).

It was no real surprise Connor was still down for the count when he woke up. He’d mentioned a longer period and Hank had no idea what that looked like, but fuck, Hank felt like he could sleep a couple more hours himself. He didn’t, though he did linger a little while, watching his little yellow light spin, soaking up the sort of boneless relaxation he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It wasn’t hard to slip out of the loose grip Connor had on him when he finally willed himself to get up, but he had done it with a heaping amount of reluctance.

 

He didn’t bother attempting to parse out where the hell all his clothes had been thrown. Just grabbed new shit and showered in an attempt to make himself look semi-presentable because shit, he was looking _rough_ after the night before. Even realized he was sporting a few new marks on him, tiny bruises from Connor’s fingers pressing hard into his skin. Warmth immediately spread through him, spurred by the memories they immediately brought to mind. He knew better than to linger after that and let his mind wander, only bothering to throw on a shirt he didn’t button and some boxers. When Connor _still_ wasn’t awake when he'd exited the bathroom, he decided to head out onto the balcony instead of back into bed. He mentally made the excuse of not wanting to disturb him accidentally, but honestly, he was pretty sure he just needed some space to not be a fucking horny old man. The fact he was making sure he was giving Connor the chance to unfuck himself or whatever the hell his longer stasis was doing was just a bonus.

 

Fucking crazy ass android, though. He’d tell people it was never a dull moment with Connor when they asked about what it was like working with him and, apparently, that shit just translated right into whatever the fuck they were doing now. Sure, him basically short circuiting there for a moment had freaked him out last night, but fuck if he didn’t find it hot, too, once he saw he was okay. Once he saw how _satiated_ it’d made him and knowing he’d caused that.

 

(He wanted to do it again, too. Christ, how things had changed with him.)

 

He leaned against the railing, staring out. Just a day more of this. They’d be on the road early tomorrow, back to civilization, with work the following Monday. Honestly, it didn't really feel real they’d spent so many days of this trip already. He also would've never called himself ending up with this feeling the sense of melancholy about going back that he was experiencing now. He never would’ve believed how _stressed_ he had been until he felt how he was right then, staring out at the wide expanse of ocean that had been their view for the better part of the week. He knew there’d be a point where he’d get too itchy in his idleness and he didn’t doubt Connor would be the same, but right now? Right now he really was starting to wish Connor had pushed for another week until Fowler relented and just let it happen. Put off reality for a little while longer. For someone who had been dubious about the entire trip, that was probably saying something. Admittedly, he didn’t fucking see most of the shit that happened in the last five days coming, but.

 

 _But_.

 

It was funny, really. Grief had had a strangle hold on him for so long that he barely recognized the lighter feeling he’d been having. Sure, there’d been something undoubtedly _better_ stirring in him for a while at that point – there had been reasons he’d been taking steps to get his shit together instead of just giving up and waiting to die – but now? It was like grief finally was actually starting to release the strangle hold it had on him and let him come up to breathe for once. The feeling was honestly exhilarating as it was terrifying and he could already feel uglier thoughts of feeling guilty for the simple act of being happy coming on. They would’ve usually easily been dragging him back down by now if it wasn’t _also_ true that he was having an easier time keeping that shit at bay lately.

 

_It wasn’t your fault, Lieutenant._

 

Connor had said a lot of shit to him, but there'd really only been one thing that had stuck with him for the years he'd known him by then. Sure, it hadn’t even been the first time someone said it to him – or even the second, the third, the fourth - but it had been the first time he _believed_ it. Believed it enough to know between the two who to choose that day, believed it enough that it echoed in his head when he needed to hear it. And now Connor was doing it again, finding new ways to make him feel like he had the sort of worth he’d long since decided he didn’t have any longer. At the center of the shielding he was starting to have to fight off the darker parts of himself was his goofy fucking partner who was so incredibly insistent in thinking well of him that he was starting to believe it too.

 

Didn’t really see that shit coming. But hey, what else was new?

 

He wasn’t sure how long he was out there, just staring pensively out toward the water. Didn’t really hear Connor approaching either until he heard the soft slide open of the door. He didn’t turn at first, though he did smile when he felt a familiar weight pressing up against his back, arms wrapping around his midsection. A light press of lips against the cloth covering his shoulder followed.

  
“Finally awake,” Hank murmured, tilting his head to the side until he was just in his periphery. Connor had settled against him by then and, much to his surprise, he was definitely wearing the shirt he hadn’t bothered to find earlier. _Christ_.  “Heh. Leave it to you to make even my shit look good.”

 

“It was the first shirt I found,” he replied, actually thinking he needed to fucking explain himself. He buried his face against his back after he spoke, the next thing out of his mouth muffled. “…I wasn’t sure where you were.”

 

There was something about the _way_ he said it - an undercurrent of not being sure about anything right then - that made Hank realize, shit, he’d fucked up, hadn’t he? He had _completely_ forgotten this all was Connor’s first morning after. He’d been so worried about what Hank thought of him the night before, the shit he could’ve _inferred_ by him being missing was pretty clear. Hank frowned at the very thought and immediately knew he had to do something. He carefully shifted in the embrace so he was leaning back against the railing instead. Connor, seemingly noticing what he was trying to do, loosened his grip enough for him to easily maneuver until he was settled again.

 

“I wasn’t sure how long you’d be out and didn’t want to accidentally wake you up. The whole stasis shit is still new to me,” he said, explaining before Connor had to try to awkwardly figure a way to ask if things were okay. He nudged his chin up so he could kiss him too, for good measure, and didn't break away until he felt Connor relax against him, all tension dissipating.

 

He'd made his point. There was a small smile on his face when they parted.

 

“There _are_ ways to wake me up in case of emergency, but you’d have to be trying,” he explained, and it was probably a good fact to know in general, honestly.

 

“Noted,” he replied, gently cupping his cheek and peering at him. “You’re looking a little more yourself.”

 

No more splotches of shiny white, at least. He honestly didn’t mind how he looked at all the night before, but he knew it probably wasn’t exactly a look he had meant to have.

 

“Ah. Yes. It seems I had a little more trouble keeping up with what we were doing than expected,” he admitted, looking sheepish. High fucking praise, if you asked him. “It was useful data, however.”

 

Fucking _data_. Hank just stared, amused. “Glad to help, I guess?”

 

“I also very much enjoyed myself,” he added after a pause, and Hank realized, to his amusement, that it probably hit him he should mention that too. He also realized the same glint he had in his eyes were still fucking there, which was a lot. What just that look did to him was a lot.

 

Christ, he was pretty sure he’d created a monster.

 

He cleared his throat, forcing any stray, inappropriate thoughts away for the moment. “Speaking of, here’s a question. Are you going to knock yourself out _every_ time we do shit together?”

 

Of course Connor had a ready answer for that. “I was going to tell you, actually - no, it should be fine now. I’ve already started to make adjustments to account for the errors I came across last night. It may take a few more tries to perfect it, but it shouldn’t be a problem for much longer doing it that particular way.“

 

Well, that got a fucking laugh out of him. Connor looked puzzled at the response, so he explained, “You _realize_ that is the weirdest fucking way to ask someone to have sex with you again, right?”

 

He blinked once before looking a little embarrassed and glancing away. He swore he was fucking _pouting_. “I was _hoping_ to assuage your concerns. I’m still new at this, you know.”

 

“Hey, it’s fine,” he reassured, lifting a hand up to ruffle his hair. He grinned at the sour look Connor shot him. “I was only teasing to rile you up. You had me seeing stars last night, you can ask however the hell you want and whenever you want.”

 

Connor lit up at the praise, as if how broken Hank had been for a little while after hadn’t been more than enough feedback on how well he did. Then he could practically see the offer being filed away the second it came out of his mouth.

 

“Good to know,” Connor hummed, the sourness entirely gone by then. Hank realized too late he had set _zero_ parameters for that statement and he had a feeling he was going to regret it.

 

Or not, because hell, a large part of him was already curious to see what he did with it. Just a wide-open offer to jump him. He was pretty sure he was looking at someone with the potential for stamina that he’d never be able to keep up with, but he certainly wanted to _try_. The idea of being wanted continued to be equal parts intoxicating as it was warm and welcome.

 

...Which was the last thought he had before Connor kissed him, crowding him against the railing he’d been leaning against by pressing his entire body against his with _just_ enough weight to keep him there. The sensation of being unexpectedly pinned sent a coil of heat right fucking through him even before his brain fully caught up to what was happening. Without thinking, his hands went from the bannister to resting low on his hips, angling himself a little so Connor could push even more into him. He had to immediately remind himself they were fucking on a balcony where people could see them, though the publicness may have been giving him a bit of a thrill too.

 

“Last day here,” Hank reminded against his mouth, breathless by the time he was given a chance to speak. It was less a _protest_ and more a statement of fact. “Sure you don’t want to relax on the beach?”

 

“Errors aside, I found what we did last night to be very relaxing,” he replied in a low voice, fingers curling around the two edges of his still open shirt. He had pulled away enough to tip his head up to look at him. He regarded him with intense interest, eyes trailing along his body. “Unless you want to go?”

 

“Are you kidding me?” he huffed out bluntly, and that got an actual, sharp laugh out of Connor.

 

“Inside?” he suggested instead, lifting an eyebrow.

 

As though Connor didn’t know the answer already. He knew he could see what he was doing to him, with the once over he’d just given him. Gave a sharp nod, gaze never wavering.

 

“Inside.”

 

* * *

 

 

To Connor’s credit, he didn’t fry himself this time. No, the only person’s brain that was fried was _Hank_ ’s after all was said and done. He was still in bed, blanket loosely covering his frame, staring up contentedly at the ceiling. The sound of the shower going was the only thing interrupting the silence of the room. He vaguely was aware he was starving by then, but the idea of getting up was feeling like an impossible task. He’d only gotten to the point of pulling on his boxers and sitting up by the time Connor returned.

 

“I should probably eat something at some point,” Hank said outloud, because maybe if he _said_ it, he’d actually go find wherever they hid the menu tablet for the shit that could be delivered to the room.

 

“That would probably be helpful,” Connor agreed, looking awful fucking pleased with himself. Hank let him preen without comment. “Would you like me to find the menu?”

 

Hank let out a quiet ‘hmm’ noise. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. Kind of wish I could take you out and not have it be so one-sided, though.”

 

He saw him frown a little. “I’m sorry, I know my limitations can be a problem.”

 

“Nah, it’s not like that. I don’t care at all where _I_ eat, to be honest. Just sucks you can’t experience it, if that makes sense,” he explained, rubbing the side of his neck. “There’s more of a variety of shit to do back home. I’ll get better at this.”

 

Connor watched him, seeming to pick up his slight agitation at himself, as much as he was trying to brush it off as no big deal. “You’re doing a lot already, Hank.”

 

That was kind of the thing though, wasn’t it? Connor didn’t really _have_ a baseline of what he could expect from someone, so while Hank knew he could probably get away with coasting, he didn’t really _want_ to. He’d been fucking coasting at _best_ the last handful of years of his life, he was done pulling that shit. He wanted to set the bar higher than that. “Yeah, and you deserve more. I haven’t been anyone’s boyfriend for a long time, but I remember some things I’m supposed to be doing, here.”

 

It took a second to realize Connor had stopped what he was doing. He looked over to find he was staring at him oddly instead of continuing his search for the wayward menu. Hank immediately rewound what he just said in his head, looking for a reason why, but coming up with nothing.

 

“Alright. What’s with the look?” he asked, deciding to be outright because it immediately made him nervous. Better than second guessing and wondering. Connor blinked, seeming to come out of his thoughts.

 

“Oh, nothing,” he replied, returning to his task immediately. Hank watched as he finally located and grabbed the menu. When he spoke again, his tone denoted a forced casualness. “I just realized this is the first time there’s been any designation of what this is.’

 

He’d returned with the menu as he finished explaining, holding it out to him. Hank nearly didn’t realize it was there at first, and even when he did take it, he didn’t really look at it. No, his attention was entirely on Connor.

 

“Wait. Shit. You weren’t sure what we are?” he asked, feeling a growing horror inside of him.

 

“Well. I _guessed_ ,” he offered in an attempt to be reassuring. It wasn't reassuring at all. “Especially after yesterday. But I didn’t want to assume and be incorrect. That would’ve been -”

 

He hesitated, searching for the word. Frowning then, too, like he couldn’t quite find one that was right.

 

“Painful. Or at least an unpleasant feeling I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with,” he settled on. “It’s become very clear these last few days I would enjoy being with you in whatever capacity it ended up being. That felt like enough.”

 

Hank _intimately_ knew the feeling of refusing to expect much. It _sucked_ getting your hopes up only for shit to crash and burn. Easier to close off, compartmentalize. The fact Connor was displaying the same shit was just another very clear reminder that, two years later, he barely could remember how he used to be before. He was all human in front of him right then.

 

“Okay, we obviously need to have a fucking talk,” he said, getting real serious, because _shit_. Connor regarded him quietly, making it clear he had his full attention. “First of all? Don’t ever fucking settle. And before you freak out, no, I’m not pushing you away. But if I ever start taking you for fucking granted, you deserve better and you shouldn’t put up with that shit.“

 

Which felt important to say. He knew the idea of worth still was a work in progress for him too in the face of him being made to be a tool, but he wouldn’t let that ever be a thing between them. He deserved to be happy, even if that wasn't with him one day.

 

“Understood,” he said, quietly. Didn’t look like he entirely believed that - at least when it came to relationships, perhaps - but it could be worked on.

 

“Secondly, I’m sorry I fucked up, I should’ve probably known to be clearer. Let me spell it out for you now: if I wasn’t serious about you, this would’ve ended on the beach. If I just wanted someone to fuck around with and it not mean anything, you’re not the kind of person I would’ve turned to,” he said, making sure there was no fucking room for doubt. He’d had a few random one night stands over the years with people he couldn’t even remember the names of, just to get some release. The ability to never see them again was exactly why he’d ended up with them. Connor was not that kind of person at all. “I’m probably shit at showing it, but you’re important to me. Beyond all of this. It’s been a good two years. At least it has been for me.”

 

Two years he was sure he wouldn’t have had otherwise. He’d been so close to finally throwing in the towel before Connor was all but forced on him. Didn’t realize it then he’d become a lifeline, but he absolutely was. Being around him didn’t instantly cure his depression, but he sure as hell helped. That wasn’t the kind of relationship he ever considered complicating unless there was a real damn good reason to do it. There was a _reason_ he was in absolute denial about how deep shit had started to run between them until Connor forced his hand. Rocking a boat that was steady and had a good record of keeping him from drowning had consistently felt like a fucking terrible idea any time he’d considered it in the past. And he had, more than once, more than he'd ever admit to.

 

At that, Connor seemed to be more at ease. A soft look crossed his features. The tension seemed to drain with it. “It has been for me as well. Very much so.”

 

He rubbed his neck, nodding. Glad to fucking hear him agree, really. Sometimes this shit felt so one sided with how much Connor had propped him up. “Good. That’s fucking good. So consider this shit designated or whatever. Still not entirely sure what the hell you see in me, but I’ll just be here considering myself lucky.”

 

Connor shot him a look that made it clear he was _definitely not_ going to tolerate him talking badly about himself after all of that.

 

“I can compile a list of all the favorable things I see in you, if you like,” he offered, folding his arms in front of him with an expression that said he was serious. “In fact, I’ve added a couple of reasons in the last two or so hours that might be of specific interest.”

 

Hank flushed red nearly instantly, having a very good guess the kind of shit he added to his list so recently. That shit was fresh in his head.

 

“There’s a particular sound you make when -“

 

“So I’m going to order my fucking food now,” he announced, loudly. Connor looked away, shoulders shaking just enough to know he was suppressing a laugh. He only sat beside him when it was contained and he had composed himself. Hank didn’t look up from the menu but felt him lean his weight against his side.

 

“The list really is substantial, for what it’s worth,” he murmured, all sincerity now. It was as bad as him fucking teasing him, honestly. His ears were probably red at that point. “I wish I could show you how I see you sometimes.”

 

There was a pause before he unexpectedly felt Connor quietly guide his hand away from the menu, clasping his hand in his, palms pressed flat together. Hank’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked first at his face, then downward as he felt him lace their fingers. Watching his skin sort of melt away was still interesting, especially when it happened on purpose. He did it without hesitation too, which Hank hoped was a sign he was getting more comfortable about it. He _wanted_ Connor to be comfortable around him. Nothing came out of it, of course. Well, not interfacing, anyway, which he knew was what Connor was wishing could happen. Still, his grip was warm despite the unyielding-looking material he was made out of, and Hank could swear he could feel the same faint current of electricity gently buzzing against his skin. The sensation wasn’t unlike light, harmless pinpricks and while it felt a little strange, it wasn’t unpleasant.

 

He wondered if he was trying to transmit it all, even if he knew he couldn’t. Feelings crashing uselessly against the barrier that was between them. He knew Connor enough that it’d probably overwhelm him. He knew himself enough to know he’d probably overwhelm Connor, too. The two years of buildup between them alone would be a lot, nevermind everything else that made up Hank’s life.

 

If he were honest with himself, he knew he could at least put a single word to the feeling he had toward him after all they’d been through, one that had been floating in his head for ages before now that was only starting to be allowed to solidify. Shit like this only pushed it further into the forefront, just waiting for him to acknowledge it.

 

“I think I have a good idea, even if this doesn’t work,” he said, putting aside the menu and covering the hand still holding his, Smiled when he saw the expression on Connor’s face at the return of affection, even if his was so muted and quiet next to his. It didn't seem to matter to him, a fact he was glad about. “You’ll just have to remind me when I’m being an asshole to myself.”

 

“That I can do,” he said, the promise coming easy.

 

“And,” he added, catching his gaze. “I’ll make sure to do the same for you when you need to hear it, too. And, you know, if you want to know something just…fucking ask. You aren’t going to run me off.”

 

Hank had never even considered Connor second guessing himself until recently. But he was seeing it now, the careful walls he had constructed somewhere along the way. Could see the same fear of rejection reflected in him that he knew he carried like a fucking weight chained to his leg for as long as he could remember. He didn’t want Connor to have to deal with that, not with him.

 

“Okay,” he murmured, gently letting his grip on his hand go. It went back to how it usually was a few moments later, the white disappearing beneath his synthetic skin. “Thank you.”

 

Hank snorted, finally going back to the menu he had tossed aside. “Not something you need to be thanking me for, Con. That’s just how this shit works. You’ll get used to it.”

 

Probably not all that helpful, but it was the best he could offer.

 

“This is the first time I think I’ve gone so off my programming I have nothing to pull from that would be entirely appropriate for the situation,” he admitted after falling silent for a long moment. “It’s been hard to know how to navigate things.”

 

“Welcome to my fucking life,” he snorted, nudging his side with his elbow. He knew he was being serious but this was one thing he knew he shouldn't dwell on because he knew it was a matter of time before he figured it out. So he continued to tease, unable to help but grin as he asked, “Wait, so does that mean you’re _extra_ deviant now, is that what you’re saying?”

 

There it was, the stress leaving his face, replaced by a very pointed look at him. 

 

“I don't know why you're surprised, Hank. It was only a matter of time, given the company I keep,” he replied, though his tone was far more light now.

 

He feigned innocence. “You calling me a bad influence?”

 

Connor made a show of considering the question as he stood up. Hank watched him cross over to stand in front of the balcony's sliding door, looking out. “I will say that's a _very_ subjective question. I suppose it's closer to the best sort of influence, though, in my opinion.”

 

Of course he had to be unrelentingly and unflinchingly earnest, even when they were fucking around. He just exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking sap, kid, you know that?”

 

Connor didn’t look back at him, though he knew he was pleased. “You love it.”

 

The word, used so fucking freely, made his stomach clench a bit. Fucking heart on his sleeve always, he was going to be the death of him. He considered just scoffing in response, but it didn't feel right with him. Swallowing an unexpected lump in his throat, he decided to give him something a little more substantial.

 

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he allowed, a nervous sort of attempt at meeting him halfway. There was a weight to it that spoke things between the lines.

 

Connor looked back at him, body haloed a bit by the mid-morning sun pouring into their hotel room. He didn't know if he read a damn thing into it, but the smile he gave him in response somehow was the brightest part about him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final night before the end of their trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have an official last chapter decision. (points to chapter number). It'll likely be shorter than the rest (...she says, even though that rarely happens), but I have a few things I wanted to do before closing this crazy ride.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Feel free to hit me up on twitter Jericho ([@gottageekout](https://twitter.com/gottageekout)), where I spend too much time flailing.
> 
> (You may get hints as to what I might be writing next, doop doop.)

They had ended up spending most of their afternoon at the pool, deciding to end things on a low-key sort of note. Which was more than fine by Hank, for what it was worth, because he’d hit the point of the vacation where fatigue had started to set in. The day before had been filled with walking, nevermind the activities afterwards.

 

Connor let him spend a lot of the time just sort of stretched out on one of the chairs. He apparently spent a little _too_ long doing that.

 

“I did mention you ought to have reapplied. More than once,” Connor pointed out, mildly, as he settled behind him. His upper back was burned to all hell, he didn’t need to see it to know it probably looked bad. The shower he took had helped, but he already could tell he was in for a night of trying not to sleep on his back.

 

“Go ahead, say ‘ _I told you so_ ’,” he grumbled, scowling.

 

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it _outloud_ ,” he countered, surveying the damage. Hank could practically imagine the disapproving frown on his face. “But I’m glad we’re both thinking it.”

 

“Asshole,” he huffed, though with nothing even approaching venom.

 

“Sometimes,” he allowed with a small chuckle, which was a pleasant sound so close to his ear. “I can make my hands cold, if you’d like.”

 

“Why would I –“ and then he trailed off, catching on. He wasn’t sure when he was going to get used to his well-meaning but ultimately weird shit he could offer to do to him now that there were essentially no barriers between them. That time wasn't now. “Connor, I’m not using you as a fucking _ice pack_. There’s washcloths I can just soak in cold water in the bathroom.”

 

“It’s not using me when I offered it freely,” he pointed out in a way that said he had been preparing for some kind of argument. “It also is enjoyable to me, because I do very much like touching you.”

 

Hank knew he was fucking with him. He knew he was. His tone was dripping with innocence but his words were anything but. He knew certain shit he said would send a spark of heat through him and of course he was right.

 

“Christ, Connor,” he snorted, rubbing at his face as he felt his cheeks start feeling as hot as the burn on his back. “Ought to just come out and say you want to feel me up.”

 

“I would like to feel you up,” he parroted and that was when Hank looked back at him sharply. He was smiling, all cheek, clearly pleased with himself. The synthetic skin on his hands were already deactivated but he was, despite all the teasing, he keeping them to himself. Waiting for permission. “I also want to help you, so let me.”

 

Hank regarded him for a long moment before sighing. No sense saying no, especially because he knew it ultimately was going to feel good. “So how do you want to do this?”

 

Connor considered the question before motioning toward the pillow. “Lay on your stomach.”

 

Massage style. Hank just nodded and shifted until he was lying out flat on his stomach, arms crossed and pillowing his head. He turned to watch Connor edge closer to him, on his knees, his hands still that increasingly familiar stark white. His LED spun yellow briefly and he waited a few more moments before he gently placed his hands on his back.

 

Cold to the touch, as expected, but not freezing. He could feel his skin prickle a little at the sudden temperature difference, but fuck, the skin underneath them immediately felt a little better. 

 

“Neat trick there, kid,” he murmured, exhaling a contented sigh. Didn't take long for his mind to come up with some other applications of this apparently ability he had, too, but he quickly buried those thoughts for a time that was more _appropriate_. There was something about knowing Connor was trying to wind him up at least a little that made him stubborn.

 

“I can tell. You seem to be enjoying it very much already,” he hummed, and Hank knew he _had_ to have picked up something before he stashed those thoughts away, the fucker. With no protest from him about the temperature, he started moving his hands, the touch as gentle as he could make it. It was no real surprise it was relaxing on top of the fact it legitimately was helping ease the ache, even if it was only a respite.

 

It wasn’t exactly new, having the android fuss over him, but this was another level. For as much as he had been messing with him earlier, there was a tenderness to the touch that made him feel oddly vulnerable. He was a guarded person as a default, and while Connor had gotten good at getting past that, shit like what he was doing now was like finding a gaping hole in the armor entirely. He knew it should freak him out. He _knew_ what allowing himself to accept how deeply attached he was already could do to him.

 

But fuck, it was so hard to care. It felt so good to let go for once.

 

“Better be careful or I might get used to this,” he joked quietly. He wasn’t quite able to suppress a smile when he felt him press a single kiss to his broad shoulder before the motions of his hands continued. “…Or fall asleep on you, which is getting fucking tempting.”

 

“We still need to pack,” he pointed out, though he didn’t stop just yet.

 

“Ugh,” Hank groaned, turning his head and burying his face into his arms instead. The entire prospect of getting up sounded _horrible_ right now. “Let’s just _stay_.”

 

“I don’t think the hotel would approve of us not leaving,” he pointed out, patiently.

 

“Fuck ‘em. Call it a crime scene, they can't do shit then,” Hank countered, closing his eyes.

 

“That _would_ be interesting to explain to the Captain,” Connor admitted, and, a few moments later, his touch was gone. Hank made a slight noise of disapproval, though didn’t stop him from moving away and getting up. “You can sleep, I’ll pack.”

 

Connor knew what he was doing. The fastest way to get Hank to do something was to make him feel guilty, which was exactly what he was making him feel. He knew the bulk of the mess was _probably_ his and he didn’t particularly like leaving that kind of work to his partner. It wasn’t right.

 

After a long-suffering groan, he finally forced himself up, though not without some effort. Connor was already picking shit up by the time he headed over. He grinned as he approached.

 

“I see you’ve decided to offer your assistance,” he said, as though there’d been any fucking doubt that was precisely what was about to go down.

 

“This sucks,” he griped in response, bending down to start collecting some things. Connor’s bag was going to be perfectly done, he was sure, but Hank was just aiming to fit everything in without his shit exploding until he got home.

 

“You know, I am happy that you’re showing some reluctance at leaving,” he admitted. Hank picked up one of his shirts and looked over. Connor had paused himself, looking thoughtful. “You didn't entirely seem excited when we left.”

 

Yeah, he had made a bit of a stink about going, now that he thought about it.

 

“Eh, you know I like bitching. You were right, I needed a break and this was perfect,” he reassured, as if Connor hadn’t noticed. Except when he looked over, his partner didn’t look very reassured at all. Hell, now he looked guilty, of all things. His eyes narrowed. “…What?”

 

Connor cleared his throat.

 

“I _did_ want to talk to you about that,” he explained, speaking in a manner that denoted he was choosing his words carefully. “With this relationship in its infancy, I don’t want any…untruths between us. I may have had a slight ulterior motive beyond worrying about your stress.”

 

Hank wasn’t entirely sure he liked where this was going. He was silent, waiting for him to explain further. He did, though with some real obvious reluctance.

 

“I was unsure how to proceed once I realized I wanted to pursue something more with you a few months ago. What we're doing isn't exactly something I can upload information into my head about and I wasn't entirely comfortable talking to anyone about it. So, ah, I may have turned to human media. There was a lot of material from romantic cinema involving beaches, as it turns out,” he explained, looking sheepish. “A _lot_.”

 

The fucking movie he’d been watching. He remembered it so clearly now and how much he'd thought it'd been a weird choice for him. Apparently his 'something is off' senses were pinging correctly.

 

“Holy shit, Connor,” he exhaled as it dawned on him what he was insinuating, not sure what his fucking reaction ought to be to all this. Laugh? Be pissed off? “How much of what happened this week was planned?”

 

“It was less _plans_ and more _opportunities_ I recognized I could use that would elicit likely well-defined responses? Times I just stopped pretending and pushed a little? I hadn’t lied about being jealous, for example, I just didn’t swallow those feelings like I usually would have with you,” he offered, weakly. “Though certain things were accidents. I hadn't expected to quite get as close as I did that first night, that was me being unaware just how much movement that function allowed me, even in stasis. The bar, too – I know better than to trigger strong emotions in there, I truly thought you just wanted me to meet others and was trying my best."

 

A beat.

 

“…I may have been the reason we ended up in this _particular_ hotel room, however. I was curious how you would proceed, since I knew there'd be multiple options available and wondered if you'd take any of them.”

 

He had just thought Connor had taken over at the front desk because he was better at dealing with people when he was fed up with shit. Now he wondered if he had a whole conversation with that android receptionist about what was going on using that fucking telepathic shit they could do. Hank groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“I’m _sorry_. I was worried about not reading things correctly, so I thought the couple things I did were simply harmless attempts to gauge your reaction to reinforce I wasn't wrong,” he frowned, looking uncomfortable. “But you ended up getting upset and drunk and I knew at that point I just needed to say something and hope for the best.”

 

Hank felt, finally, a laugh bubble out of him. He couldn’t fucking help it. It was the most ridiculous fucking thing he ever heard but it was so _Connor_ it was impossible to be mad. There was some comfort they were apparently both fucking idiots in their own unique way.

 

“Fuck. Connor, that’s _insane_ ,” he finally said, almost feeling vindicated at least that he’d noticed he had been acting _off_. He just felt stupid for not reading into what he felt was so obvious on the walls now.

 

“I know. _I know_. And I understand if you’re upset at me,” he said, looking nervous now. Hank had thought the laugh would've been enough to calm him down, but apparently not.

 

“Look, I’m not mad. I'm really not. I don’t even blame you for that night I decided to overdo it, I know that was on me. Definitely don’t do this again because it’d be easier to just fucking tell me, but –“ he trailed off, trying to find the right words himself now. “Shit, that’s one _hell_ of a way to seduce someone, I’ll give you that.”

 

He wished androids blushed sometimes. He settled for being amused at the yellow ring that immediately made itself known as he very much called a spade a spade. He stepped closer when he didn't reply, tossling his hair a little. He couldn't fucking help it.

 

"Seduction is a very _strong_ word," he managed out, making a face at the gesture. Hank's smirk only grew wider.

 

“I'm just saying you can take me on vacation to get into my pants without any pretenses, Con,” he continued, teasingly, because as it all sank in, he realized just how much shit he could give him about this. For the rest of their fucking lives, honestly.

 

“Hank!” he exclaimed, and oh, the embarrassed look on his face was _perfection_. “That’s not – I –“

 

At a rare loss for words, he eventually sort of threw up his hands and stepped away, as if he were just going to get back to work. Hank knew he could've left it, but he ultimately decided to catch his wrist before he got too far. Connor looked down at his hand, then at him.

 

“Alright, calm down. I know, it’s a big deal. I’m glad you did whatever the fuck you needed to do to make the first move,” he reassured, because he knew his partner was flustered and embarrassed and he wasn't going to let him keep feeling that way. Sure, it was fun messing with him, but he understood all of it had been his weird fucking way of gauging a situation Hank had just decided was hopeless. He'd at least tried and went out on a limb he'd been too chickenshit to test. “I sure as hell would’ve just kept being quiet about everything, even though I've felt the same way for a long time, too. Too fucking old and broken to go making assumptions that someone like you would, you know.”

 

He let him go then, having said his piece. The vulnerability feeling was back, the sensation uncomfortable as ever, but Connor deserved him at least trying to be a little more open. He watched him take a tentative step closer, fingertips brushing through the bristles of his beard before coming to rest on his chest. He looked up at him, calmed down now, looking, as always, unflinching affectionate.

 

“I would not have watched all those movies for just anyone,” he murmured with a small, teasing smile of his own. Hank exhaled a laugh, feeling the tension he just caused practically dissolve around them.

 

Connor probably knew it'd have that effect. He was grateful.

 

“Not your taste?” he asked, eyebrow lifted in amusement.

 

“A few were, but most of them were objectively terrible,” he confessed, making a face. “There were some more egregious than others – I decided not to use anything from them, though I do think I have a bank of terrible pick-up lines at my disposal now if I need them.”

 

“Why would you _ever_ need them?" Hank asked and quickly wished he didn't.

 

“Oh, I can think of a few things,” he mused, gently pushing himself away. He surveyed the mess still around them. “Should we finish getting everything prepared or do you want to sit and listen to me recount a few of them?”

 

Threats, apparently. He would need them for threats.

 

“God, you're a monster sometimes, you know that?” Hank accused when he realized what he was fucking doing.

 

Connor just shot him a sweet smile in response.

 

* * *

 

It was the first morning he woke up _after_ Connor in a few days and Hank was honestly surprised at how unpleasantly jarring it was initially. He half expected him to be moving about the room, but instead he seemed to have taken a page from him and slipped out to enjoy the warm morning air on the balcony. Once he got dressed – carefully, of course, because fuck the sunburn still hurt – he headed out to join him.

 

Didn't take long for him to take the opportunity to smoothly slip behind him, arms easing around his frame. They fit together better this way, he noted distantly, his thin frame easily enveloped by his larger one. Connor, who had clearly heard him coming, simply leaned back against him.

 

“I decided to let you sleep in, you seemed very comfortable,,” he said, head tilting to the side when Hank pressed a kiss to the slope of his neck. “You missed a nice sunrise.”

 

“I’d say wake me up next time, but –“

 

“There's no next time,” he finished with a sort of wistful, sad tone.

 

“Welcome to the shittiest part of vacation, going home,” Hank said with a quiet chuckle, resting his chin on his shoulder. “We’ll have to do this more often.”

 

Connor inclined his head a bit to look at him. Hank could see the soft smile lift on his face. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, realizing how much easier it was to see the weeks, months, and years ahead of him lately. It wasn’t so long ago that he resented every morning his body hadn’t given out entirely. He tried to store away the feeling as a reminder whenever things in his head started to act up, this contentment that had settled over him. “Forgot how much I liked traveling. Having company helps. And fuck, you still have a lot to see.”

 

That reason alone was worth the work of getting to places. He’d had experiences already, it was all new shit to Connor. It’d been entertaining introducing him to things, even more than the other shit they got up to. Even just shit like this, where they fell quiet and just enjoyed one hell of a view - it felt good not only because he liked it but he knew it made him happy.

 

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, too," he admitted.

 

"I really fucking did. In ways I never imagined, in fact,” he snickered, not _quite_ able to help himself.

 

He was unsurprised when he felt Connor elbow him solidly a moment later for being an ass. Fucking worth it, really. He stepped away then, rubbing the spot as his partner turned and regarded him with an unamused look.

 

“I suppose we’re going to start getting ready to go?” he asked, very _pointedly_ changing the subject. Hank allowed it.

 

“Yeah, I guess. Got a long ride ahead of us,” he sighed, already not looking forward to it.

 

A return to normalcy, except not really. The dynamics had shifted so much between them that he couldn’t help but feel some small, low level amount of anxiety that he knew was absolutely ridiculous. He swore Connor paused to peer at him as the thoughts crossed unbidden into his head, which just made it worse. If he noticed something was off, however, he didn't say anything. Hank was glad, since he wasn't entirely sure he could fully explain himself anyway.

 

“Can we pick up Sumo tonight?” he asked instead, hopeful. “It won’t feel right being back home without him in the house.”

 

Hank laughed, utterly unsurprised at his eagerness to get their pet back. Some things remained consistent, at least, and it was a legitimately comforting realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, every time someone commented on trope usage I laughed and laughed because yeah. Connor fucking knows the score, y'all.
> 
> Shout out to the exactly one person who called Connor being up to stuff all the way back in fucking chapter 6's comment section. Love you lots, OFD.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return to reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Hank, it feels only appropriate to post this on today of all days.
> 
> Head to the end notes for some mushiness. Thanks for reading!

All things considered, the ride was faster going back than heading over. Hank knew it was probably because they didn’t take a bunch of pit stops, though there’d been a little while where they were considering stopping to gawk at another attraction, they both opted to pass. Hank knew that was solely because of Sumo, which was fucking endearing, he wouldn’t lie.

 

He missed his dog, too. He also missed not being in a car for hours on end, for that matter, as much as the company was good. Somewhere near the end of it he eventually just flat out fell asleep, awakened only by the gentle prodding of his partner.

 

“We’re here,” he announced, and Hank blinked sleepily at the familiar skyline they were driving towards. Seeing it sent up another flare of mixed feelings, though with how stiff his back was, he settled on focusing on the relief that stretching would bring soon.

 

He sat up, realizing at some point he’d ended up just leaning heavily against Connor in his sleep. He shifted until he was sitting up fully, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

 

“Fuck, how long was I out?” he asked, blearily.

 

“An hour and a half,” Connor replied easily. “You looked comfortable, so it did not feel right waking you. We’ll be arriving within fifteen minutes.”

 

Hank winced, rubbing his back gingerly. He'd be feeling the trip for a while, he was sure, the stiffness something he was sure was going to take forever to work out.

 

"Fucking finally," he sighed, sounding relieved.

 

He wasn't sure if he could say he was looking forward to being home after the kind of place they just left, but he sure as shit preferred it and having his dog back in comparison to the rental they had. Sometimes it was picking between two evils.

 

It was six by the time they reached Wilson’s apartment – a little under the assumed fifteen minutes. He’d texted ahead of time, making sure they weren’t barging in. Wilson had seemed entirely unsurprised they weren’t waiting for the first full day they were back to pick the dog up, but Hank thanked him anyway for being flexible. Connor jogged up the stairs once they got into the building and Hank didn’t even bother keeping up.

 

He got up to the last step just in time to watch his partner get flattened by an extremely enthusiastic Saint Bernard. Connor ruffled his fur between his palms, letting out a sharp, happy laugh. Hank approached, just fucking surveying the insanity.

 

“I’ve been replaced as the favorite,” Hank joked when he saw Wilson standing in the doorway, watching too.

 

“Probably for the best,” he replied, lifting an eyebrow. “He’d might’ve broken your back, old man.”

 

Hank couldn’t argue with that, though he did make a face at the age dig. Glancing at Connor, he cleared his throat.

 

“Maybe we can move it into the actual apartment, you two,” Hank suggested, mildly, just as the dog gave him an enthusiastic lick on his face. He was a fucking mess and it was hard to contain his own laugh seeing it.

 

“He’s right, Sumo,” Connor said, carefully pushing him off. Sumo simply made a beeline to Hank instead.

 

“Oof,” he groaned, wincing as the dog practically headbutted into his leg. He had to plant his feet so he didn’t lose balance. “Oh, _now_ you fucking remember I exist.”

 

He was leaning down and petting him before long regardless, enough to satisfying the giant animal enough to get into the door. It took a minute or two.

 

“How was your trip back? Hit a lot of traffic?” Wilson asked as he closed the door behind them all.

 

“Long,” Hank groaned, stretching his arm over his head and cracking his back in the process for good measure. 

 

“But uneventful,” Connor added. “We didn't stop at any roadside attractions this time. On the way there, we decided to take a look at the Space Acorn.”

 

Wilson shot Hank a sideways glance. “Do I want to ask?”

 

“Probably not,” he snorted, though he imagined it would eventually come up anyway. Connor had definitely taken a lot of pictures, some of which he assumed he'd be showing off to various people over the next handful of days.

 

“Alright, well, color me curious. You guys wanna stick around for dinner?” he inquired, looking between the two of them. “I was just going to throw something together. The girls are having a night out.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Hank said, after looking over to Connor to make sure he was fine with it. He was, of course. Hank was usually the problem in these situations. “We’ve probably got fuck all at home. Well, for me anyway.”

 

“Yeah, I can imagine. And sorry, Connor, I don’t have any Thirium,” he realized, wincing. Connor smiled politely.

 

“It’s fine, I enjoy the company,” he replied, pretty much a pro at shrugging shit like that off. Hank honestly wished he wasn’t, even though he knew he was right. There was that stuff in his fridge only because they lived together. He’d have no reason otherwise to have it around.

 

“Good, good. Next time,” he promises, even though he doesn’t have to. “You guys can have a seat if you want.”

 

They do, leaving him to cook. Hank sits down on the couch and Connor sits on the floor, specifically so Sumo could crawl on him again. He hugged his arms around the dog’s neck and Hank bit back a smile at the two of them before glancing around. It was a decent sized apartment, well decorated and bright, in a nice neighborhood. He found himself vaguely wondering how much Wilson paid a month.

 

He shifted his gaze to Connor, deciding he’d ask Wilson later, in a text. Connor seemed to sense his eyes on him because he looked up from Sumo to look back at him. The joy etched on a face he could still remember was once forced blank and emotionless made his stomach twist pleasantly. It was the sort of fluttery feeling he, much like everything else he’d been feeling involving Connor lately, barely remembered.

 

Connor looked like he was about to inquire something when Wilson’s voice cut in.

 

“Oh, hey. Have you guys heard about Reed?” Wilson asked, loud enough that they could hear him without leaving his food. His back was turned – the kitchen itself was an open one, but the stove was facing away from the main area they were sitting in. It was a weird question, which meant it was probably something beyond the usual shit Gavin got up to.

 

“What did he do now?” Hank asked, already prepared to hear something stupid. There was a long pause, as if Wilson was realizing that no, they really _hadn’t_ heard whatever was going on. Impatient, he asked, “What?”

 

“Shit, I'm surprised Fowler didn't text you or something. He’s laid up right now. Guy got the drop on him in that sting operation he was part of,” he explained in a tone Hank didn’t like at all. He glanced sharply at Connor, who was now wholly looking at Wilson, his LED spinning yellow. “He’s fine, before you ask. Probably pissing off the doctors right now. Real close to being bad, though. From what I hear, it could’ve easily been fatal.”

 

“Shit,” Hank exhaled, the news sinking in like a fucking anchor.

 

“Yeah, you guys honestly took a vacation at the right time, the whole thing was pretty much a disaster,” Wilson admitted. “Just a heads up of what to expect on Monday.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Wilson,” he replied. The amount of work they were probably staring at was going to be insane.

 

But that didn’t matter as much as how much it was fucking him up that Reed was injured that badly. God, he was insufferable, but that didn’t mean he wanted him _shot_. All things he didn’t say outloud, but he was thinking it. Had a feeling Connor was, too, as the android wasn’t quite as talkative as he usually was.

 

Wasn’t really talkative in the car, either, staring out the window. Sumo was curled up in the back, using one of their bags as a pillow.

 

“Hank,” he suddenly said, looking at him with a serious expression. Hank was all ears. “I would like to visit Detective Reed tomorrow.”

 

Honestly, he did, too. He sighed, not looking forward to what he surely imagined was a much more surlier than usual co-worker. He’d gotten better of the years, but he wouldn’t quite be Gavin without the tendency to run his mouth.

 

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Maybe give the nurses a break,” he joked, weak as it was. “I’ll get the info from Wilson at least where he’s laid up.”

 

Hank glanced over to see Connor messing with a coin, letting it glide through his fingers. It’d hit a point he really only did that shit now when he was the android equivalent of _stressed_. He had a feeling the same shit was on his mind.

 

Wilson had said it himself, they probably would’ve ended up part of whatever went down. Could’ve been in the crossfire, could’ve had something happened. Reed was an asshole, but he also was a damn good detective. If he was caught unawares, things had to have gone south pretty badly. It was hard to think about.

 

He watched Connor a little longer before covering his hand with his, stilling the movement. Connor looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“You’re thinking too much again, Con,” he reminded, tone light.

 

They both were, but it made Hank feel a little better when he felt Connor relax his hand, clearly taking the reminder to heart.

 

It was easier once they got home to relax. The familiar surroundings were both welcome and odd after a few days away from it all and – well, everything that fucking happened. It was funny, really, but Hank somehow expected shit to be different and it wasn’t, not really. Two years living together and there was already a routine in place long before they left the house, one that had been working smoothly. Hank had never really thought about it much, but in the scope of their new relationship, it was just –

 

They’d been fucking living like they were together for a long ass time, hadn’t they? It was almost ridiculous to him he hadn’t really even thought about it until now, because it felt obvious now that it was staring him in the face. And sure, all of it now was tinged with an intimacy that hadn’t quite been there before, but _still_.

 

The only complete difference, of course, was when they finally flipped off the TV to retire for the night. He’d been sleeping on a pullout since he unofficially moved in, insisting – like he had at the hotel – that really hadn’t needed much. Instead, after getting ready, he headed into Hank’s room, hesitating by the door. Hank had been in bed by then, getting comfortable. He glanced up when he realized he was lingering instead of coming in. Connor smiled weakly when he caught his gaze.

 

“Is it alright if –“ he began, then trailed off.

 

Hank had assumed him sleeping there was a given. Apparently not.

 

“You getting shy on me now?” he asked with a quiet huff of a laugh. He motioned toward him. “Come here.”

 

“I was just making sure,” he countered as he headed over, looking only a little sheepish.

 

“Pretty sure we’re past the point of sleeping in different beds,” he murmured.

 

Connor seemed to consider saying something in response, but instead chose to say little as he slipped into bed with him, shifting until they were next to each other. Hank was a little surprised when he chose not to just lie against him as he usually did but pull him into a hug, his arms going around his shoulders. He pressed against him as close as he could get, their legs tangling with each others in the process.

 

Hank returned it, of course, one arm falling around his waist while the other hand went to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. They stayed that way for a while, silent, until Connor eventually settled against him in a more normal manner. He gently rubbed his back in a slow, comforting circle.

 

He was the last one to sleep between them, for once, repeating the motion until he was sure Connor was fully into his stasis mode. He seemed like he needed him, and fuck, Hank wasn't going to let him down.

 

* * *

 

They went to the hospital early. Not before picking up flowers, of course, which Connor had insisted upon once he was informed that usually people brought them. Hank had made sure to add that Gavin wasn’t your average patient, but he knew better than to attempt to stop Connor when he had an idea.

 

Honestly, Hank was looking forward to Reed reacting to it. From all the years he knew him, he knew he was even worse at dealing with kind gestures than Hank was. He was vaguely worried it would be a pain in the ass to see him, but the second he showed his badge, it didn't take long for them to get the information and allowance in to go see him.

 

They were quiet entering either way, unsure if he was sleeping. As they peeked in, Gavin was in bed, awake, attached to a whole fucking lot of machines. The injury wasn't visible, though he wasn't all that surprised, given the fact he had apparently been shot in the abdomen.  He was clearly awake, too, watching some shit on TV. He glanced over as they went into the room fully.

 

Hank could see him wince a little as he sat up.

 

“The fuck are you assholes doing here?”

 

Yeah, that was the kind of reaction he was waiting for. Hank was almost grateful he was alright enough to be a little shithead.

 

“Relax before you pull your stitches,” Hank drawled, tossing the weird stuffed cat they’d both decided was going to be Gavin’s souvenir. He looked between it and the little bouquet of blue flowers Connor had. “Connor won you something.”

 

“Hello, Detective,” Connor piped up, He paused, staring at him, then added, “I see your care has been excellent. Your injury appears to be healing nicely. We were both worried about how you were doing.”

 

Gavin just stared at him, slack-jawed. Then he looked away and Hank swore he looked embarrassed at Connor’s relentless friendliness.

 

“What’d I tell you about scanning me, tin can? Fuck,” he huffed – though with little bite to his words - as he picked up the cat Hank had tossed at him. He squinted at the toy, frowned, then put it aside.

 

No comment, no tossing it back at them - he honestly looked like he was going to keep it. Interesting. Maybe he actually liked it.

 

“How are you feeling?” Hank asked, which was a question that always felt bullshit. He knew the answer already before he even opened his mouth.

 

“Like I got shot. I’m guessing you two heard?” he asked, looking between them. Their expressions probably said it all. “People are overblowing it. Fucking gossiping assholes.”

 

“Yes, how terrible that they’re worried about you,” Hank said, dryly. Connor shot him a look and he sighed, adding, “Which includes us, like Connor said. You been behaving?”

 

“Model patient,” he replied, which Hank didn’t buy for a second. He saw Gavin ease himself down again, making himself more comfortable. Connor moved to put the flowers down among the ones he’d already gotten – not too many, but enough to be a small collection. “It’s driving me fucking nuts being here, though.”

 

Hank couldn’t blame him. He hated hospitals – put him on edge enough that Connor had even noticed when they first went in that he wasn’t comfortable. Being stuck during a recovery would be shitty as hell.

 

“Resting will speed your recuperation process up,” Connor offered, stating the obvious.

 

“Listen to this one, you sound like my doctor,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “No one’s even telling me shit that’s going on involving the case. You guys actually give a shit? You bring some news next time you visit.”

 

Hank knew they were probably keeping it to themselves so he didn’t strain himself. Still, he knew how _he'd_ be in his position.

 

“We’ll see,” he said, making no promises. “Don’t even know if we’re gonna be involved.”

 

“Oh, Fowler’s gonna. Probably would’ve been part of it from the beginning, if you two weren’t sitting on a beach somewhere,” he rolled his eyes. “Welcome back, everything’s gone to shit.”

 

There was the confirmation. Some small part of Hank was grateful they got out just in time, even though he knew it had meant neither of them were available to help. Maybe shit would’ve been different for Reed, who knew? He tried not to dwell on the what ifs, if only because he knew there were a lot of bad ones, too.

 

“What else is new,” Hank scoffed.

 

They spent the better part of the next two hours just hanging out. Reed had to be desperate for entertainment, because after his usual amount of bitching, he settled down. Even pulled out cards someone brought him, set up his tray between them, and taught Connor how to play War, which ended up being something to watch.

 

Hank felt like he learned something important: never play Connor in cards. Despite Gavin’s insistence of him cheating, he knew him well enough to know he wouldn't fuck around like that. Hell, he was pretty sure the one game Gavin did win was Connor taking it easy on him, though he wisely kept that to himself. By the time they left, he seemed to be in – well, he was still himself, but he seemed a little less on edge. Mission fucking accomplished, he guessed.

 

Even told them to come back, if they wanted.

 

Connor had been his usual self in the hospital room, but he seemed oddly – he didn’t know, off, he supposed, once they were driving home. Hank left it alone, figuring he’d talk if he wanted to.

 

He did finally bring it up, hours later, near the point they were getting close to when they would be going to sleep. They’d just finished taking Sumo out for his last walk for the night. Hank had put some water down and stood up to find Connor standing there. They just stared at each other before Connor finally spoke up.

 

“Wilson had been right,” he informed him, rather suddenly. Hank looked at him, raising a brow. “About Detective Reed, I mean. He got very lucky. The location of his injury nearly hit an artery. It’s exceedingly hard dealing with that sort of injury, even with the current medical practices.”

 

“Yeah, I figured,” Hank sighed. Reed put on a brave face, but Hank had noticed some of the meds they were pumping into him. Heavy duty shit. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

 

Connor’s LED went to a soft yellow. He didn’t answer at first, and when he did, his voice was soft. “Humans are fragile. It's upsetting.”

 

Something about the way he said it made his heart clench a little and, not knowing what to say, he stepped forward and pulled him into a hug he seemed to gratefully accept. He’d known too well how true that was, had been the person holding a small broken body once and knowing life was quickly draining from him. He wanted to promise Connor he’d never have to deal with that, but it wasn’t true. Any number of things every day could be the end for him, as morbid as the thought was.

 

It sucked. It fucking sucked. Some small part of him felt like maybe this was some cosmic sign to pull away, shield Connor from it by ending this now, but he knew that wasn’t the answer. The death of his son fucked him up badly, but he never would’ve replaced the few years he had with him. Did Connor feel the same way about him? After the last few days, he felt sure he did.

 

He sure as hell knew _he_ felt that way about him. Knew that androids didn’t have _a lot_ of weak points, but they had some, and that’s all that mattered. Maybe one day he’d be gone and he’d be left with another loss weighing heavy on him, but the burden was worth it. _Connor_ was worth it, and he knew exactly why that was.

 

“Hey, Con,” he finally spoke, his voice surprisingly even for what he knew he was about to say. “You know I love you, right?”

 

Connor stilled in his arms, face still pressed against his chest. It almost made it easier to keep talking, not seeing his expression, because suddenly everything just started fucking pouring out of him.

 

“Because I do. I have for a long time, but I kept ignoring it, because I’m a fucking idiot,” he continued, his voice wavering only a little with emotion. “I’ve been dragging my feet trying to act like I don’t know exactly this is how I feel and I’m fucking done with that, I promise. I’ve fucked up enough in my life to fuck up this.”

 

He felt Connor finally pull back enough to look up at him with an entirely unreadable expression. He didn’t let him talk, not yet, now holding his gaze.

 

“Honestly, do you know how crazy it is for me to honestly be able to say I've been thinking about the future? That I fucking want one at all?” he asked, letting out a strained laugh. He wasn’t good at this, but fuck, he was desperately trying to untangle his emotions enough to explain them properly. He needed Connor to understand. “Because I have been for a while now. Actual fucking plans and you've been part of every one of them. Even before this shit started, I always took into consideration you being there, as long as you'd have me."

 

There’d been a point he’d been waiting for him to leave and now it all shifted to trying to give him all the reasons to want to stay. To take the long-needed steps to move forward that he hadn't quite yet,not really, as fucking terrifying a prospect as that was.

 

“You don’t need to say it back,” he finally added, a spike of anxiety hitting him as soon as his brain caught up to what the fuck he’d just said. Christ. _Christ_. “There’s no expectations. I just needed to make sure you…make sure you understood, you know?”

 

Connor still just stared and Hank actually went to back off. That fucking got a reaction out of Connor, who gently grabbed his wrist, halting the movement.

 

“I – I did not want to be too forward,” he finally said, and there was an honest to god tremble in his voice he didn’t think he’d ever heard. Like the shit that made his voice work was being strained somehow. “I came up with multiple ways to tell you, but none of them had the kind of odds I felt comfortable with.”

 

He stepped closer then, hand hooking behind his neck and tugging him down to him. Claimed a kiss that practically fucking made Hank melt, deep and insistent and wanting. There’s a very familiar vibration against his skin and he wasn't surprised to see his hands are white when they pull away enough for him to look. Even without the ability to interface, a part of him wondered if it said something that he knew what was happening just by feeling it. Wondered if that feeling was unique to Connor.

 

He’d ask one day. For now, Hank just searched his face and Connor slowly smiled, leaning in close.

 

“I love you, too,” he whispered against his ear.

 

It was – it was fucking overwhelming, if he were honest. It wasn’t like he was surprised, but there was something about hearing him say it that did shit to him he didn’t expect. Like he’d opened a box in him that he’d been refusing to look in and the contents were all flooding onto him at once.

 

“Fuck,” he managed out, not sure what else to fucking say or do. Connor cupped his face in his hands when he tried to look away. The touch was grounding and Hank had a feeling Connor knew it’d be.

 

“You’ll have to tell me some of your plans someday,” he said, his smile wide now. His fingers gently stroked at his skin, his tone a little shy. “I want to hear them all.”

 

Hank nodded, exhaling a shaky laugh at just – he fucking meant it when he said he wanted to know. It was hard not to be struck by how much he wanted to tell him, too, wanted to fucking tell him anything, but right then?

 

Right then he wanted to kiss him again and Connor made no motion to stop him. Words were a fucking pain in the ass, but this? This was simple. It was too fucking simple, even when the rest of the things that made up their lives wasn't. Even though the morning would come soon and they'd be thrown into the thick of things again.

 

They were together, at least. Always together.

 

As they angled toward the bedroom, Connor couldn't quite help but tease, “I’d call this vacation a success."

 

Hank felt a sharp laugh escape him, but he made no attempt to deny the words.

 

He was _right_ , after all. He was incredibly fucking right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...fin.
> 
> I want to thank everyone for hanging around for fourteen chapters and 40k+ words of this insanity. I started this fic not even knowing if I'd bother finishing it, as I hadn't done a chaptered story in ages. What came out of this was many new fandom friends and an honest to goodness feeling of accomplishment for having seen this all through.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who sent kudos, who commented, who bookmarked, who followed. Thank you to the people who actually made art based on this little tale ([this](https://twitter.com/thewarningtree/status/1036963897499152384) is the latest piece, and it's gorgeous!), I cannot even begin to explain how much it meant to me, and I can honestly say this is the first time that's ever happened even once. Just - thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.
> 
> I thought I lost my love of writing a long time ago after my own bout of depression. It's been a wild ride realizing it was there, just waiting for me to pick it up again.
> 
> And as you've seen, I'm still intending to be around and contributing to this fandom. Feel free to follow me on twitter ([@gottageekout](https://twitter.com/gottageekout)). It's been an immense pleasure writing this and I hope you all continue to poke at my silly stuff that I write in the future. :)


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